


hypaethros

by nekostar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Engagement, First Time, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mental Health Issues, Old Married Couple, Pet Names, Post-Canon Fix-It, Religious Discussion, Romance, Slice of Life, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Taking Care of Sick Significant Others, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekostar/pseuds/nekostar
Summary: Mr and Mr Graves are in love.How Credence Barebone comes to live with Percival Graves is this:-Mr Graves touches Credence's shaking hand as he takes a pamphlet declaring that witches will burn in hell. Credence falls a little bit in love.-Mr Graves touches Credence's face. Credence falls a little bit more in love.-"You saved me, Credence, my boy," Mr Graves croaks, "you could at least call me Percival."
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 82
Kudos: 204





	1. darling, dearest, dead

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy people, okay here we go.
> 
> i haven't seen fbawtft in years but ive been non-stop reading gradence fics lately. it's been a while since i've read the hp books, so please forgive my errors. fuck canon tho lmao.
> 
> i wanted more romantic fluff, so i am here to deliver. these will probs be short chapters that are related, but not necessarily. chapter title is from lemony snicket.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Sunday, domesticity between Mr Graves and the future Mr Graves feels like marriage.

How Credence Barebone comes to live with Percival Graves is this:

  * Mr Graves touches Credence's shaking hand as he takes a pamphlet declaring that witches will burn in hell. Credence falls a little bit in love.
  * Mr Graves touches Credence's face. Credence falls a little bit more in love.
  * Mr Graves slaps Credence. Credence grows angry. Very angry. (He is, unfortunately, still a little bit in love. That might be the worst part of it.)
  * Credence destroys half of New York. Then some other stuff happens. Credence doesn't remember much, as he's a swirling cloud of black for most of it.
  * Credence calms down a little, then hunts down Mr Graves through sheer intuition. Mr Graves is locked up in a trunk, missing chunks of hair, and has a few broken bones. This is Mr Graves, who of course, was the Mr Graves before the Mr Graves that slapped Credence, because _magic._
  * "You saved me, Credence, my boy," Mr Graves croaks, "you could at least call me Percival."
  * Credence refuses to call him Percival, but accepts his offer to stay in his home, seeing as he no longer has one. (And, when he is feeling particularly uncharitable, thinks that it is at least a little bit of Mr Graves' fault that Credence no longer has a home to return to.)



So now Credence lives with Mr Graves in the man's luxurious brownstone. It's been three months since _The Incident._ Mr Graves, of course, reinstated as the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, has smartened up considerably, and provided Credence with every possible thing he could ever want on a silver platter. Credence has a room with a fireplace, a comfortable bed, a kitchen that refills itself, a library full of all the magical learnings Credence will ever need, and a list of Floo addresses of the best instructors dragots can buy. Newt Scamander and Tina Goldstein assist Mr Graves with the obscurus, and Credence is now able to live life as a regular wizard, while his obscurus swirls around in Newt's suitcase with the one from the young Sudanese girl.

Credence spends his Mondays shopping and running errands; Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays in lessons; and half-Fridays following Queenie Goldstein around delivering coffees at MACUSA. Throughout those days, he also tries his hand at every recipe in _Mrs Cauldron and Me: 165 Recipes for the Novice Cooker_. He makes sure that Mr Graves comes home to a warm meal and tumbler of firewhisky.

But Saturdays and Sundays, oh, those are Credence's favorite days most of all. Saturdays, Mr Graves comes home early at five o'clock on the dot to collect Credence. He wraps Credence's scarf around his neck personally, and then side-apparates him to Tina and Queenie's apartment. Queenie has Saturdays off, and cooks all day for everyone; Credence, Mr Graves, Tina, Newt, and Jacob Kowalski, who brings dessert and a kiss for Queenie's blushing cheek. They sit down together, and Credence finally knows what it's like to have love and a family. The warmth in the Goldstein apartment is unlike any other.

Sundays, though, are reserved for just Credence and Mr Graves. Credence will wake up, start the coffee maker and tea kettle, and then take a shower. He'll dress in just pyjamas and a robe, and finish making breakfast for his Mr Graves, who will then shuffle into the kitchen, yawning, completely underdressed in his own pyjamas and robe and hair only pushed back, as though he isn't a wizard that could be presentable with a flick of his wand. It makes Credence's face warm. They'll then sit down and eat together, as Mr Graves reads through _The New York Ghost_ , and makes approving hums over whatever meal Credence has prepared for them that day. And sometimes...

"Credence, darling, will you pass the salt?" Credence will pass the salt, and try not to pass _out._

Mr Graves will just drop these little sobriquets, and Credence will guard them zealously with his heart. And so they spend the day together, quiet, sometimes listening to the wizarding wireless or even the no-maj radio, playing chess and reading and discussing their week, and Credence falls a little bit more in love.

It's so _easy_ , falling in love with Mr Graves. Mr Graves, who insists Credence call him _Percival_ , who calls Credence _darling_ in the early Sunday mornings, who would never lay a hand in anger on him like the false Mr Graves, who ties Credence's scarf for him, who looks at Credence and makes him feel like there's nothing in the world Mr Graves would rather look at.

Sundays feel like marriage. Credence thinks he'd like to spend the rest of his life like this, if he could.


	2. you make me feel like [MACUSA REDACTED, SEE: AUROR GRAVES]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Monday, Mr Graves and the future Mr Graves go on a date. (Only one of them knows this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for emetephobia. there's a mild scene where it's mentioned that graves and credence throw up from eating food too fast for their own good.
> 
> \----
> 
> i hope u enjoy this chapter <3

Credence Barebone has lived with Percival Graves for five months, and has learned the following things about the man:

  * Percival Graves _really_ prefers it when Credence calls him _Percival_ , rather than Mr Graves. Credence is still having a little trouble wrapping his tongue around it, but he ever so does want to call the wizard he loves by his given name all the time.
  * Percival Graves is _not_ a morning person. Although genial and generally quiet in the mornings, Mr Graves will _not_ be so genial and quiet if more than an hour passes his awakening without consuming at _least_ one cup of coffee. As such, Credence prepares Mr Graves coffee to drink with breakfast, and sends him off with a second cup when he disapparates to work.
  * Percival Graves has crow's-feet around his eyes that only appear when he smiles at Credence. It's a quiet, lovely smile, and it makes Credence's heart skip a beat when he sees it.
  * Percival Graves has not been on a date voluntarily since his late twenties, and involuntarily since his early thirties. (His job takes up a lot of time, and his mother has only recently given up in finding him a suitable spouse. It gave Credence such a shock when he walked into the living room to find a disembodied head in the fire screaming at Mr Graves, that he probably lingered and listened to the conversation more than what was appropriate.)
  * Percival Graves is incredibly affectionate, for such a serious man. (Perhaps he isn't incredibly affectionate, just a regular amount for a wizard in his age and standing, but seeing as Credence has never received affection in his life, he's not entirely sure. He nearly constantly rests a hand on Credence's shoulder, or pats Credence's hands in congratulations upon performing a spell correctly. Credence can hardly take it without giving himself a heart attack.)
  * Percival Graves gets _nervous_. Credence can hardly believe it, but, here the man is, a little flushed in the cheeks, not entirely meeting Credence's eyes. _Fidgeting_.
  * Percival Graves _fidgets_ , although perhaps someone who does not study him as much as Credence does would notice. A slight twitching of his fingers, smoothing over a surface, that could almost be mistaken for a boredom-induced finger tapping.



They're sitting in the living room, in front of the fireplace, in their typical Sunday garb. The fireplace is crackling merrily with rainbow-colored sparks, and the radio is playing soft jazz. Credence is reading a magical history book about Ilvermorny, while Mr Graves— _Percival,_ Credence reminds himself— has been slowly increasing his fidgeting before softly calling Credence's name.

"Credence, darling—" Mr Graves starts, then stops. Credence looks up from his book, blushing at the endearment. How he _loves_ Mr Graves on early Sunday mornings. He waits a few seconds, then cautiously speaks when it seems Mr Graves is disinclined to continue.

"Yes, Percival?" Credence cuts himself off before he adds something to that, like _dear_ or _love_. Oh, imagine— _yes, Percival, dearest?_ No amount of _darlings_ would matter; Mr Graves would likely hex him, then dump his sorry body immediately out on the steps of the brownstone. 

"Credence— I— that is, _we—"_

Credence's eyes widen. "Are you quite all right, Mr Graves?" he reverts anxiously. Never has he ever seen Mr Graves like this; practically twisting his hands together. It absolutely must be something _dreadful_. Perhaps Mr Graves really _is_ done with Credence living with him? Perhaps he's found some lady witch he intends to marry, and who simply wouldn't understand Mr Graves having a dirty orphan living in his guest bedroom who can't even perform basic magic properly? Perhaps—

Mr Graves visibly steels himself, gripping each of his hands onto the arms of the wingback chair he'd been fidgeting in for the past hour. "Credence, I'd like to take you out for dinner tomorrow, if it pleases you."

That's it?

"Oh," says Credence. _What a relief._ "Yes, of course." Mr Graves always takes him to the most wonderful restaurants, be they entirely enchanted bistros or cozy no-maj diners.

Mr Graves waits patiently, as if Credence is expected to say something more.

"I'm... looking forward to it?" he tries. Mr Graves' expression doesn't change. "I always enjoy spending time with you?" Still, nothing. In fact, Mr Graves leans in closer to him from across the chessboard between their two armchairs, still with that serious face.

"I always enjoy spending time with you, too, Credence," Mr Graves says solemnly. Credence blushes furiously. "I can't wait for tomorrow."

"Me, too," Credence squeaks, before burying his reddened face back into his book. In his peripheral vision, he sees Mr Graves lean back, resting his head in his hand, no longer fidgeting.

Apparently, entirely content to just keep watching Credence attempt to read his book for the rest of the day.

* * *

Monday arrives, as it typically does after Sunday. Credence is pressing a cup of coffee into Mr Graves' hands as he sees him off to work, feeding off of the nervous energy that seems to have reignited in Mr Graves overnight.

"And— I'll see you tonight, Credence?" Mr Graves asks, cupping Credence's hands around the coffee mug with his own. 

"Of course!" Credence bleats out, like a lamb to slaughter. The warmth of the coffee mug is nothing compared to the warmth of Mr Graves' hands around his. "Where else would I be, Mr Graves?"

"Percival," Mr Graves reminds him gently. "I'll be home early." He still hasn't let go of Credence's hands, and he's looking deeply into Credence's eyes. Credence goes all red, likely not for the last time today. It's unfair, for a man as handsome as Mr Graves, to be looking that deeply at Credence. How is Credence supposed to handle it? "I'll pick you up here at five. And—"

If Credence didn't know any better, he would _swear_ that Mr Graves turns a little pink in the cheeks. "Yes?" he asks breathlessly.

"Will you— of course, it's entirely up to you, Credence, but, will you—" Mr Graves cuts himself off again.

"Anything, Percival," Credence says stupidly, drunk on the way Mr Graves' eyes haven't left his, the warmth of his hands tightening on Credence's, the soft way he says Credence's name.

"Will you wear the green suit I bought for you?" Mr Graves finally gets out. The green suit?

Oh. _Oh. That_ green suit.

"Yes," Credence squeaks out.

Mr Graves seems to come back to himself, taking a deep breath, nodding, and pulling gently away from Credence's hands. "I'll see you at five, then." And then he disapparates to work, leaving Credence with his forgotten coffee.

* * *

The green suit. The Green Suit. _The_ Green Suit.

Credence lays out the accursed thing on his bed. Throughout the day, Credence slips in and out of his room nervously, shooting looks at the suit as though it might come to life and eat him. He completely forgets to go out to do his usual Monday shopping and errands, thoughts occupied with the outfit. Out of his room, he spends fits of cleaning vigorously, reverting to cleaning without magic.

It is, of course, the most _gorgeous_ suit, emerald green and threaded with gold and silver. It makes Credence feel absolutely _sinful_ wearing it. It fits him like a glove, expertly fashioned by Mr Graves' personal tailor. It is one of many that Mr Graves bought Credence when he first came to live with him, but it is the only one that involves something other than white, black, and gray.

Mr Graves had insisted on it, though. "You absolutely must, Credence, it looks wonderful on you," he had said at the time, while the tailor nodded behind him. 

So the green suit came home with them, but never has Credence had an occasion to wear it. The fact that Mr Graves specifically requested that Credence wear it for tonight worries him. He agonizes for three hours and then sends a pigeon to Queenie, who has the best fashion sense of all his friends, not including Mr Graves.

> _Monday, November 1st, 1927_
> 
> _Dearest Miss Queenie,_
> 
> _I hope I find you in good health. I still cannot stop thinking about the roast beef you made this past Saturday, I really must get the_ _recipe from you when you have the time!_
> 
> _I have a personal query for you; I hope I am not taking too much time from you at work._
> 
> _Mr Graves has asked me to dinner, not out of the ordinary, although we usually go out on other nights. He asked me to wear the green suit. What does this mean? Have you ever had someone ask you to wear something specific to dinner? It is a very nice suit, should I expect a restaurant even more wonderful than normal? It is also not the most conservative of suits, if you know what I mean. I feel a little too much like a picture star and it is very form fitting, not something I would normally wear._
> 
> _Also, how should I do my hair?_
> 
> _Please give my best to Tina, Newt, and Jacob._
> 
> _Yours truly,_
> 
> _Credence Barebone_

He gets a reply from Queenie in fifteen minutes, which he spends chewing his nails and staring at the green suit.

> _Hey Credence Sweetie!_
> 
> _We're all doing fine! I'll send you the recipe when I get home._
> 
> _It means wear the green suit! Your Mr Graves is sure to love it. Don't worry too much, you know he adores you too much to bring you anywhere you wouldn't like. Do those nice waves like I showed you. Make sure you let him see those pretty eyes though!_
> 
> _I love hearing from you, honey, you never bother me! In fact, send me more letters at work! It makes little old me seem real important in front of the rest of the girls ;)_
> 
> _See you Friday._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Queenie_

Well. That's one problem solved.

* * *

The first time Mr Graves takes Credence to a restaurant is within the first week of their living together, and it is a quiet no-maj diner around the corner from the Woolworth building where Mr Graves works. It is one of Credence's fondest memories, vomit included.

"I thought perhaps it would be an all right compromise for us," says Mr Graves, who had hung up his coat on the booth's pole and then taken Credence's from him to hang it overtop. "No-maj for you, since you'd be used to it, and close to my work, which I'd be used to."

"That's kind of you, Mr Graves," Credence says quietly, looking down at the table between them. The truth of the matter, of course, is that Credence has never even stepped foot into a restaurant as nice as this. Like many other things, Ma had forbade it, calling it devilish and sinful. The Lord provided people with the means to cook; to sit and wait for it to be served to you like a pig at a trough was slothful and gluttonous. Not that they ever had the money to afford it, anyway.

"Kind is perhaps the last thing most people would call me, Credence," Mr Graves sighs, flipping through the menu. Credence looks up at that, shocked. "Now, I know we both just got out of the hospital and are sick of it, but this place does soups and sandwiches best—"

"Those people are wrong, then!" Credence blurts out. Mr Graves raises an eyebrow at him, making Credence flush. "I'm sorry— forgive me for interrupting, Mr Graves, but you've shown me nothing _but_ kindness. You're letting me stay with you, and you've given me so much— I wish there was some way I could repay you. I feel like— like I'm just leeching off you—"

"Credence," Mr Graves says firmly, reaching across the table to grab Credence's shaking hands. "You're not leeching off of me, please don't think of yourself like that. You're an extraordinary young man who has been failed by the very government and society I've chosen to protect all my life. Anything I can do to make it up to you as a fellow wizard and MACUSA auror, I will do. You deserve to be happy, and safe, and taken care of."

Credence has never been happy, and safe, and taken care of, let alone all three at once. He thinks that being around Mr Graves might be the closest he's ever felt like that. Struck by the man's sincerity, and the warmth of his hands, Credence whispers, "Thank you, Mr Graves." 

Seemingly satisfied by Credence's thanks, Mr Graves nods, patting Credence's hands before pulling back. "Now, let's take a look at the menu, shall we?"

Later on, after having been emboldened by their exuberance for eating something other than hospital food, Mr Graves and Credence discover that even the Director of Magical Law Enforcement and a former Obscurial would be wise to listen to their healers. The two of them find themselves hunched together on the floor in front of the toilet, which made disapproving flushing noises at the rich sandwiches and soup that both Mr Graves and Credence had generously donated into the bowl.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Graves," Credence says, tearfully miserable after retching into the toilet. He's such a _stupid_ , wretched fool, for spoiling Mr Graves' generosity and dirtying up his home.

"No matter, my boy," Mr Graves chokes out, after heaving up his portions as well. He pats Credence on the back gently. "This is one of those bonding moments that many junior aurors go through with their superior after a bad experience with a dark wizard. We'll just chalk ours up to being a little late, and consider you a junior auror now."

"Even Miss Tina?" Credence says incredulously, thinking of the kind, mature, dignified witch who tried to shield him from Ma before, and had helped Mr Graves and Mr Scamander in removing the Obsurus after.

"Tina," Mr Graves groans in remembrance, thinking of the stubborn, dedicated, optimistic witch who regularly came into work with ketchup and mustard on her collar, "drank me under the table and has never left me alone to forget it."

Credence accidentally lets out a giggle, then slaps his hand over his mouth in horror. Mr Graves looks over at him, taking in his wide-eyed expression, and lets out a chuckle himself. They spur each other on, before collapsing into laughter together.

"It's really all right, Credence," Mr Graves says, wiping a tear of laughter away from the corner of his eye, "I promise."

Not for the last time, Credence thinks that with Mr Graves, things really might turn out all right.

* * *

After the first time, Mr Graves admits to Credence as to why they truly didn't listen to their healers, and had attempted food a little too rich for their guts at the time.

"Credence, you must understand," Mr Graves says. "There are many different types of magic." 

Credence nods. There are likely as many types of magic as there are sins, he imagines. It was probably one of the reasons that made Ma so adamant about burning witches.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, Credence," Mr Graves continues. "I brought you to a restaurant because..."

Here, of course, Mr Graves could say anything. Credence's constant anxiety always likes to scream that when Mr Graves gets choosey over his words, it means that he's kicking Credence out of his home. _I brought you to a restaurant because I wanted to let you down easy_ _that you need to leave._

"...I am awful at cooking charms."

Credence blinks. "Cooking... charms?" he repeats.

Mr Graves nods, looking almost embarrassed. "You need to know, Credence, not all wizards are great at all magic. My charms are passable, of course, for field work, but the household ones tend to escape me a little."

"You can cook and clean with magic?" Credence asks breathlessly. Was this a dream? Would wonders never cease?

"Well, yes— I mean, _I_ can't, but I choose to mostly blame that on perpetual bachelorhood rather than any ultimate failings on my part," Mr Graves shrugs.

"Can you show me?" Credence says. He would beg on his hands and knees if it meant that he never had to scrub floors with a toothbrush again, or dry his hands out with horrible dish soap, or stoop and ache to sweep because the broom was too short for him.

"Well, Credence, I mean— that is, when I say I'm awful at cooking charms," Mr Graves says. "I mean— I really am _awful,_ Credence." Then, he looks thoughtful. "We could always employ a house elf, I suppose."

Credence has no idea what that is. "But I'd like to _learn,_ Mr Graves." Suddenly, Credence realizes he's being rude. "I mean, that is, if you have any books—"

But Mr Graves waves his hand at him. "No, no, Credence, that's great, that you want to learn. I'll get you a tutor, though."

A tutor. For magic. For _Credence._ He absolutely has to repay Mr Graves in some way.

"You know, Mr Graves," Credence begins cautiously, "I do know how to cook, a bit."

"You do?" 

"Well, yes, not especially well," Credence says hurriedly, "but Ma would have me help with soup, for the children. I can make a few simple meals." The corner of Credence's mouth twitches upwards, just a little bit. "Nothing amazing, but it would at least be plain enough that yesterday's problem likely wouldn't repeat itself."

The corner of Mr Graves' mouth turns up in mirror of his. "I believe you, Credence." Credence feels his face heat and heart expand. No one has ever believed him or believed in him, about anything. "How do you feel about going shopping?"

* * *

Credence is standing anxiously in the hallway, waiting for Mr Graves, who suddenly apparates into the brownstone with a _pop_.

"Do I look okay?" Credence blurts out immediately. Mr Graves' eyes widen; he takes a long, sweeping look up and down Credence, who flushes red, which he is sure must clash horribly with the green suit.

"You look wonderful, Credence," Mr Graves says softly. He takes Credence's scarred hand in his, and presses a kiss against the knuckles. Credence feels like he's about to _die_. Mr Graves has held his hands many times, but never _kissed_ them. "I brought you something." It's a bouquet, full of flowers that Credence has mentioned offhand throughout the time that they've known each other, even from before Credence came to live with him.

"Oh, Mr Graves— Percival," Credence sighs, breathing in the bouquet deeply. Something in his stomach is fluttering something _awful._ "They're so beautiful."

"Like you," Mr Graves says, and Credence chokes on his next inhale.

"That is— I mean to say," Mr Graves says hastily, patting Credence on the shoulder while Credence wheezes, "the green truly brings out your eyes, Credence. Surely you'll be turning heads of all the young witches and wizards, wherever you go."

Credence doesn't want anyone but Mr Graves to look at him. What he wouldn't give to turn Mr Graves' head, he thinks woefully.

"Is this a special occasion, Mr Graves?" Credence croaks, nervous. Perhaps Mr Graves is buttering him up so that he can gently let Credence know he needs to find a new home—

"I hope so," Mr Graves says, which answers nothing. He holds out his arm to Credence. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, just— let me put these in the kitchen," Credence says. He hurries into the kitchen, and upon discovering no vases, uses magic on his own for the first time.

_"Vera verto_ ," Credence whispers, and turns a mug into a tall glass. _"Aguamenti."_ He places the bouquet inside after, gently stroking the petals of a white violet. The gift of the flowers outshines the accomplished feeling of performing two spells by himself.

Then, he hurries back to the wizard waiting patiently for him. For _him._ Credence Barebone, former Second-Salemer, former Obscurial, former burden upon God and all His servants. 

Credence knows what he was formerly, not entirely sure what he is now. When he sees a smile bloom across Mr Graves' face when he returns, he starts to get some ideas, though.

* * *

Mr Graves apparates them to _The Phantasmagoric Phoenix_ , which Credence has heard Queenie wax poetic about, and even Tina say some good words. The ceiling has been enchanted to look like the night sky, and a million twinkling stars sparkle above them. Mr Graves has taken him to many nice restaurants, but this one is a cut above.

"Good to see you again, Mr Graves," the hostess smiles. She seats them in a quiet, dark booth, lit up with candles that are surrounded by flowers in the middle of the table. It's undeniably _romantic._ If Credence didn't know any better, he'd say it's only an appropriate place to take a date. If Mr Graves' has brought him here, though, it must be a place to take... friends. Roommates. 

Mr Graves takes Credence's coat and scarf, and hangs them on an enchanted floating coat hook before placing his own overtop. Credence thinks of how later on, his coat and scarf will smell of Mr Graves' cologne, and then tries in vain not to obsess about it too much.

Credence doesn't bother looking at the menu, simply watching Mr Graves peruse it. After five months of living together, and trial and error, Mr Graves has a pattern that he adheres to when he takes Credence out to eat.

Credence hates crowds, so Mr Graves takes him out at earlier or later times, or to quieter restaurants, or ones that have tall booths that separate them from the rest of the customers. Credence hates thinking of all the money that they spend when they go out, so only Mr Graves reads the menu and Credence doesn't have to see the prices. Credence gets a little nauseated reading the multitude of options, so Mr Graves sorts it down to three choices and asks Credence what he'd like. Mr Graves takes notes on what Credence likes when he tries different recipes out of _Mrs Cauldron_ , so he offers new choices to Credence when they've been to a place they've been before.

"They do excellent fish here, Credence," Mr Graves says, looking up at him. "You like salmon; I'd recommend that, or you can try the rainbow trout, for something new."

Mr Graves will say things like, _They do excellent fish here, Credence_ , and then proceed to order the bloodiest steak he can, every single time, no matter the restaurant. He never takes his own recommendations. He's eaten every single thing Credence has placed in front of him from _Mrs Cauldron,_ and claimed he enjoyed it, but Credence has yet to attempt making steak at home for fear of disappointing him. 

Credence is comfortable in this dark restaurant, though, secreted away in the cozy booth lit with romantic candlelight, across from Mr Graves. He might be up for trying something new, tonight. "Is the rainbow trout _actually_ a rainbow?" Mr Graves has never steered him wrong, but Credence isn't sure that even five months of living in the wizarding world has prepared him for eating a multicolored fish.

The corner of Mr Graves' mouth turns up. "It's pink, like salmon. A little less fishy. They do it with lemon and almonds, here."

Credence _loves_ almonds. He gives a small smile to Mr Graves. "I'll try it."

When the waitress comes over, Mr Graves orders for them, as per usual. He orders a white wine for Credence, and firewhiskey for himself, and water for them both.

Mr Graves reaches across the table, takes Credence's hand in his, and _unlike_ usual, doesn't let go until their food arrives. His thumb strokes the back of Credence's hand, gently, and Credence's heart beats triple-time.

"How was your day, Credence?" Mr Graves asks softly. "Did you get the potion ingredients you needed for your next lesson? The salamander tongue?"

Like Credence could even begin to _comprehend_ what a salamander was, let alone go out shopping for their tongues, while his thoughts were occupied with the green suit.

"N-no," Credence stutters, unable to look away from their entwined hands. "I-I cleaned, mostly." Mr Graves hums. "How was work?"

"The usual," Mr Graves replies. He tilts his head, curious. "Didn't Professor Dittany say that you needed the salamander tongue for tomorrow? Were you feeling all right?"

"Fine, fine," Credence assures. "It just— slipped my mind. I'll go tomorrow morning, before lessons." If Credence didn't expire tonight from the extra work his heart was putting in.

"All right," Mr Graves accepts. One of the nicest things about Mr Graves is how he just believes Credence; takes what he says at face-value, without questioning him and making Credence feel like an idiot. He squeezes Credence's hand. "Would you like to hear about the prank Queenie pulled on Abernathy, today?"

* * *

"Did you have a nice time, Credence?" Mr Graves asks, wrapping Credence's scarf around his neck before they disapparate back home. _Their home._ Credence's cheeks are warm, and Mr Graves' eyes are sparkling at him, and Credence is _so_ in love. "You enjoyed the trout amandine?"

"It was wonderful," Credence sighs, daring to burrow closer to Mr Graves' body. _I've never thought I could be as happy as this._ They say goodbye to their waitress, and disapparate with a _pop._

"You mean so very much to me, Credence," Mr Graves says, when they appear in the foyer of the brownstone, not letting go of Credence like he normally does. He slowly brings his hand up to cradle Credence's face, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. Credence's heart is thundering in his chest, threatening to explode. What on _Earth_ is Mr Graves doing?

Credence never wants him to stop. Then, Mr Graves leans in, slowly, and even a fool like Credence knows what's about to happen.

The kiss is impossibly perfect. Mr Graves' lips are soft and gentle, and though Credence has no idea what he's doing, the surety of Mr Graves' kiss doesn't let him falter. It's chaste, but not a quick peck meant for a friend, undeniably a declaration of intent.

"Oh..." Credence breathes out when Mr Graves pulls away. Credence finds his hands have come up to grip Mr Graves' lapels, and the hand not caressing Credence's cheek is resting on the small of his back, pulling him close. Credence is _so_ warm and _so_ in love.

"Mr Graves—"

"Percival, please, Credence," Mr Graves requests softly. 

_"Percival_ ," Credence corrects himself. "Was this— was this a date?"

Mr Graves blinks, pushing himself back a little from Credence. "Yes, of course Credence, I— oh, Mercy Lewis. You didn't know?"

Credence shakes his head shyly. "Not until— not until you kissed me." He steps closer into Mr Graves' embrace. "Percival... kiss me again?" Mr Graves— _Percival,_ obliges him, slipping his hand into Credence's curls, cradling the back of his head, and Credence winds his arms around Percival's neck. It's just as perfect the second time.

Percival pulls back, kissing Credence's cheek. "Credence, darling..."

Oh. _Oh._ "Call me that again," Credence whispers, eyes shining. 

Percival's face softens impossibly, crow's-feet appearing as a smile blooms across his face. "Credence darling, dearest, _sweetheart_..." Credence knows what he was formerly, and is starting to know what he is now.

And Percival kisses Credence again, and again, and _again..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> white violet - let's take a chance on happiness
> 
> \----
> 
> ymmv on my use of vera verto, but technically in latin it just translates to 'i truly/properly turn/exchange', and i figured it's reasonable enough.
> 
> in my draft, the placeholder for the phantasmagoric phoenix was called the cautious donkey.
> 
> also, i've never seen crimes of grindelcuck, but i just read the wiki summary. o my wizard god. what a mess. like, i'm gonna watch it, but boy, am i not gonna like it.
> 
> every time i need to change a canadian word to american i die a little inside. i really did need to choose the american pairing rather than any english ones. rip favourite, rainbow-coloured, multicoloured, and grey.
> 
> in retrospect if i'm writing 'american' i should be spelling it Mr. Graves, but i've always liked the way there was no period in the hp books so... we'll just consider it an homage until it bothers me lol


	3. you make me feel like a natural wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Tuesday, Mr Graves gets sick, and the future Mr Graves takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets a little angsty. it deals heavily with credence and graves suffering from executive depression and anxiety, sickness (eg. colds/flu), and credence finding the og graves/their hospital stay. ymmv on suicidal ideation, but it is kinda implied that credence wants to be dead a few times. credence's thoughts on being a burden/ashamed of needing medicine come up a few times, which is common in those of us who suffer from anxiety and depression-- i just want to reiterate that his thoughts are wrong, and needing medicine for things like this is not shameful at all. 
> 
> it definitely ends on a fluffier note like previous chapters, though!
> 
> title chapter from that episode of the simpsons where patty/selma sings 'you make me feel like a natural woman' to jubjub, their iguana. (i mean, it's a real song, but that. that was my inspiration.)

How Credence Barebone falls completely, irrevocably in love with Percival Graves after dating for about a month is this:

  * Percival Graves, for some odd reason, seems to be just as fond of Credence as Credence is of him. Whenever Credence looks up at Mr Graves— _Percival—_ the other man is typically already gazing at him, a fond expression on his face. Credence lives in a constant state of flushed cheeks. (Sometimes Percival does too.)
  * Percival Graves is _indeed_ incredibly affectionate. Now that the unsure barrier of simple companionship has dissolved, Percival _constantly_ touches Credence; he strokes Credence's hair, kisses Credence's cheek when he comes and goes from home, keeps Credence's arm tucked in his after they apparate somewhere and walk for a bit. One day, he turns into his animagus form of a black panther, and lays on top of Credence all Sunday afternoon, head pushed into the crook of Credence's neck while Credence strokes his soft ears. He _purrs._
  * Percival Graves seems to have taken upon himself the seemingly integral mission of making sure Credence wants for nothing. It was ridiculous before, but now if Credence even _glances_ at something in a shop window, it is sure to appear on top of the kitchen table the next day, waiting for him. There are flowers on the kitchen table every week because of this. 
  * Percival Graves loses his mind when Credence gets sick. (Percival also loses his mind when he himself gets sick. It's kind of sweet.)



The first time there's any indication of Percival getting ill, it's while he's in animagus form, and Credence thinks he might be excused for not realizing it was an obvious sign.

"Ah- _choo!"_ Abruptly, panther Percival turns into human Percival.

Credence jolts, and stares down at Percival's human face, close enough to kiss, wide-eyed. "I had no idea cats could sneeze." Percival makes a grumbling noise, pecks Credence on the cheek, and promptly turns back into his animagus form. Percival's furry snout wrinkles; he sniffs once, indignantly, and buries his cold nose back into Credence's neck. Credence shakes his head, then resumes his reading of _Witch Weekly MACUSA_ that Queenie had thrust upon him this week. Chartreuse is _in_ , and baby pink is _out,_ and child prodigy chanteuse Celestina Warbeck has a few things to say about that on page 63.

* * *

Before, Credence dies, and then Credence lives again.

Fury and rage consume him, and then those _witches—_ aurors, he later finds out they're called— attack, and Mr Graves—

Mr Graves—

Is _not_ Mr Graves, but Credence cannot do anything, and he is still so _angry_.

Credence is but a wisp of black smoke, a figment of memory, slipping into the cosmos above, angry but weak.

Credence floats. He floats, and watches, and eventually, the anger fades, and a dullness overtakes. Credence is nothing. Ma was right. He's an abomination, not fit to flourish in the gardens of Heaven, too wretched to writhe in the fires of Hell. He can only watch in a personal Purgatory of his own making.

Witches are real. Credence is too evil to even be one, too dangerous to join their coven. Mr Graves never cared for him, just wanted to _use_ him. Credence is not a child of God. Credence was certainly no child of Ma's. Credence was a _lesson_ to the other children, a cautionary tale of sin. Then, he turned into the unstoppable monster in fairytales that children cannot escape.

There is no salvation for Credence.

* * *

Except... Mr Graves is Credence's salvation.

As it floats, slowly it begins to grow. The first day after it's attacked, it slips away and slides through the dirty streets of New York. The second, its smoke settles in a dark alcove, where it festers in anger; over his life, his death, and now, this— this _torture_. The third, his smoke turns a little thicker, and feels crowded in the dark alcove, so it slips out and skulks around the streets, witnessing more of those _witches_. It watches them, raging jealousy and hurt, and eventually hides away again in the end of an abandoned alley. The fourth, it grows some more, becomes a little more corporeal. Credence begins to _feel._

The fifth day after, Credence is nearly human-shaped, but still black and cloudy, crackling like electricity. He shorts out a whole street in a burst of anger, and then abruptly he settles into melancholia. Like water extinguishing a flame, there is nothing; he _is_ nothing. What is the point of whatever he is?

The sixth day, Credence feels like he's being tugged somewhere. If he was a real witch, he'd say he's being moved by his _magic._ He lets himself drift, and finds himself outside a nondescript brownstone. He feels like he's never seen this part of New York before, which is odd, since he had practically handed out flyers in every single borough that Ma had shoved him off to.

He slips in through the window. The brownstone is quiet, dark, dusty. Piles of books are everywhere, practically destroyed. Credence floats over to one, eager to take a look after reading the title _Moste Potente Potions_. As he reaches a translucent hand out, the book gives a shuddering wheeze and coughs out a cloud of mold.

Credence jerks back in surprise, and accidentally propels himself into the room behind him. There's a peculiar humming sound, and when Credence turns around, he sees a trunk at the foot of the bed. Curious, he floats closer to the trunk. It doesn't have a lock on it. Credence tries to open it, but cannot. His curiosity overtakes him, and he slips in through the cracks.

The trunk is dark, and cold, and damp, and it is not a trunk at all. It's stone inside, a staircase lit by candles that are floating. Credence drifts his way down, then comes to a prison cell.

Inside is Credence's worst nightmare. Inside is Mr Graves.

The shock turns Credence fully corporeal. "You!" he shrieks.

"Credence?" Mr Graves croaks. "Is that— is that really you?" He rolls over on the floor to face the bars of the cell, then sits up in recognition.

Credence's breathing is short, panicked. He backs himself up against the wall behind him. "I _saw_ you, you _betrayed_ me, you _did this_ to me, and they took you _away—"_

"Credence," Mr Graves says calmly, raising a hand up carefully. "The man you saw—"

"They turned him!" Credence spits, then moving closer in anger to the cell. "He was— he was _you_ , and then he wasn't, he was some sort of—"

"He was a wizard," Mr Graves says. "I know, Credence. I'm a wizard too. He used magic to turn into me, and I see that he hurt you very much—"

 _"You_ have no _idea,"_ Credence sobs, falling to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "I _killed_ them— I killed Ma, and Chastity, and Modesty—"

"I'm so sorry, Credence."

"I trusted you— I trusted _him!"_

"I know, shh, it's going to be all right, Credence," Mr Graves soothes. He shifts closer to Credence, and though he's locked up in the cell, Credence still flinches back.

"I don't know what's _wrong_ with me," Credence chokes. "There's evil inside me, _I'm_ evil, it won't _stop—"_

"There's nothing wrong with you, Credence," Mr Graves says. "You're not evil. It's just magic, and you've been hurt, and it's hurt the magic inside of you. Other people have corrupted the magic inside of you; it's not your fault. It has a mind of its own."

"I don't know what to do," Credence cries, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm going to help you, Credence," Mr Graves says. "I _promise_ you that. We're going to get out of here, and I'm going to help you, and I'm going to make sure nothing like this ever happens to you again." 

"How?" Credence begs desperately. "I don't want to live like this anymore; I can't _bare_ it."

"Take my hand, Credence. We're going to set this right."

And Credence, exhausted from suffering, from dying, from beginning again, looks up at Mr Graves. His extended hand is shaking, the other arm broken in two places. He's missing patches of hair on his head, but a moustache and beard have grown in, unkempt.

This is not the Mr Graves that hurt him. He doesn't know this one, but he knows he can't continue like this.

Credence takes his hand, and like he promised, Mr Graves makes everything all right.

* * *

After Mr Graves and Credence escape the trunk, Mr Graves takes over. Credence watches through dull, exhausted eyes as Mr Graves calls his magical president— a woman, Seraphina Picquery, the one that ordered Credence's execution— and then the two of them are whisked away to Saint Albert's Healing Hospital. Mr Graves insists that he and Credence stay together to whoever he interacts with— not once does he leave Credence alone. 

Men and women— witches—

"Witches and _wizards,"_ Mr Graves reminds him. "Healers, like a no-maj— no-magic, that is, doctor."

— attend to them. They poke and prod at him with sticks—

"Wands."

—and floating pens write notes on floating clipboards.

"Pen and clipboard, just enchanted."

They give Mr Graves potions that grow his hair back, fix his broken arm by casting spells and more potions for things Credence can’t figure out. Mr Graves practically looks normal, if not for the bright lilac hospital gowns they’re both dressed in.  
  
Eventually, Credence gets overwhelmed, shoulders shaking once again, and Mr Graves ushers all the healers out of the exam room.

"What's going to happen to me?" Credence asks, sinking into the cushioned purple armchair across from Mr Graves. "They already tried to kill me."

Mr Graves' face twists. "I won't let that happen again, Credence. No one here knows the truth about you, so we'll keep quiet. Did the Madam President see your face?"

"I don't know," Credence shrugs, looking at the floor. 

"Okay," Mr Graves nods. "So as far as anyone knows— you saved me from the trunk that Grindelwald held me in, all right? Don't say anything, just let me answer the questions."

Credence nods dully.

"Credence," Mr Graves says seriously. He takes a hold of Credence's cheek gently, and tilts his face up to look at him. Credence tries not to lean into it, but Mr Graves is so _warm._ It's completely unlike the last time Mr Graves— the false one— held him. Before, no matter how close Credence was allowed, no matter how he tried to soak up the tenderness, it was still like there was an unbearable wall of ice between them. "I swear to you. I won't let anyone harm you anymore."

* * *

Credence gets sick for the first time two months into their living together. He sleeps through his alarm, completely passed out in his bed. Percival— still Mr Graves, at the time— hovers the entire day like a useless husband in the hospital while his wife gives birth. 

Credence and Mr Graves have settled into an easy routine since Credence moved in. Credence wakes up, makes breakfast, and sees Mr Graves off to work. The day Credence sleeps through it, Mr Graves knocks on Credence's door, then pokes his head in.

"Credence? Are you all right?" 

Credence is not all right. Credence has a pounding headache, and a stuffed nose, and is shaking from both being too hot and too cold.

"I’m fine, Mr Graves," Credence lies with a smile plastered on his face. His voice sounds _awful._ "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"You’re burning up, Credence!" Mr Graves exclaims. He's come over to the side of Credence's bed, and has rested his hand against the side of Credence's face.

Yes, he is burning up, but Credence thinks (rather deliriously) that the heat coming off of his cheeks is from the excitement of Mr Graves touching him so tenderly, not from the fever. 

"I'll take the day off, Credence," Mr Graves says importantly. "I can handle cooking soup."

"Please don't," Credence groans, sitting up in his bed. "You set the whole stove on fire last time."

Mr Graves gently pushes on Credence’s shoulders, handling him back into bed. "Well, I'll firecall the Goldsteins then— I'm out of Pepperup anyway—"

"Please don't bother them," Credence pleads. Mr Graves has already been inconvenienced by Credence sleeping through his alarm, he doesn't need to add more people to the list.

"Sleep, Credence," Mr Graves insists. He waves his wand at the curtains and they shut, darkening the room. "Don't worry about a thing."

* * *

Throughout the day, Credence sleeps fitfully, dreaming of swirling black, and belts, and preaching. Mr Graves is there to wake him, though.

"Oh, Credence," Mr Graves sighs, "I wish I could do more for you."

More? _More?_ Mr Graves had called Queenie (Tina being already off to the Woolworth building), got a steaming pot of chicken soup from her, and potion that makes Credence's ears let out smoke like a steam engine. Mr Graves didn't even set the stove on fire. He brings cool washcloths and casts warming charms at the drop of a hat. He putters around Credence's room, picking up and putting down things in a mimicry of cleaning, due to the fact that Credence keeps his room tidy. He ends up doing this so much, he makes a mess that he promptly cleans up just to repeat the cycle again. He rouses Credence from his nightmares, squeezes his shoulders, and tells him everything is going to be all right.

Mr Graves _reads to him._

"Two drops Lethe River water, two valerian sprigs— Credence, is this really what you want me to read to you?" Mr Graves asks. He's sitting in a chair beside Credence's bed, reading Chapter 4 of _Magical Drafts and Potions._ "You can take a break from studying when you're sick, you know. I'm sure Professor Dittany will understand if you don't get your reading done for tomorrow." 

"Mm-hmm," Credence hums with his eyes closed. Mr Graves has the most wonderful voice. Credence could listen to him all day.

"Oh— well, that's very flattering, thank you, Credence," Mr Graves says. He puffs out his chest out a little bit, and adjusts to lean back in his chair.

God above, if the fever doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will. Credence buries his face into his pillow and pulls his blanket above his head.

"Two measures of standard potion ingredient— _what_ the hell are they teaching these days? Hmm, see index three... Oh. Well, that's helpful. Four mistletoe berries..."

* * *

Some days, Credence gets sick... but not like a cold. He'll wake up, and although he's curled up in the most luxurious bed of warm blankets while the fire crackles, he'll feel like he's back living with Mary Lou. Like she's standing behind him, silent, judging, breathing down his neck, unseen. Like the Obscurus is back, dark, and dulling, and overtaking. Like when he'd stand in a flood of people, and they passed him on the street as if he weren't smack in the middle trying to hand them flyers. Like he was invisible.

Things don't feel important. Credence knows that he needs to get up, and shower, and dress, and make breakfast, and see Mr Graves off, and go shopping, and attend lessons, and cook, and clean. Instead, he wants to stay in bed all day, not eating, not moving, not thinking. Sleep the day away, and try to begin again tomorrow. It all feels overwhelming, even when he did them all just the day before without any problems.

He tries for days and days to bring it up to Mr Graves, who always seems to have a solution for everything. He chickens out every time. Mr Graves was tortured in a dark cell by Grindelwald, and Credence wants to talk to him about how he's a little _sad_ some days? Because his life isn't perfect, even while he freeloads off Mr Graves? He needs someone else; someone who doesn't know him as well. 

"Professor," Credence mumbles one day at the end of their lesson. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mr Barebone," says Professor Dittany. An Indian wizard who spent many years teaching in England, Professor Dittany is Credence's Tuesday instructor in potions-making. Short, skinny, and very wrinkled, Professor Dittany has one of the deepest voices Credence has ever heard in a man. It is incredibly calming to listen to. He came highly recommended by Newt Scamander, who met the professor while they were both vacationing in Egypt, the two searching for giant dung beetles (each for very different reasons, of course). Professor Dittany teaches him the proper way to cut, crush, and combine potion ingredients. 

He's a _teacher._ Surely he's better suited to give Credence a solution, rather than him dumping more problems on Mr Graves.

"Is there a potion for happiness?" Maybe— maybe if Credence is just a little bit happier, he can do better, _be_ better. Maybe he wouldn’t wake up and be— whatever it is. _Lazy. Tired. Ungrateful. Useless. Slothful_ , Ma would say. Mr Graves deserves to be treated like a king in return for what he's done for Credence.

Professor Dittany hums. "Well, there's many types— of course, manufactured happiness will eventually lose its luster if you consume it too much."

Credence bites his lip, then whispers, "Some days I wake up, and no matter how happy I am, that I'm living with Mr Graves, that I never have to go back to Ma, that I'm learning magic— it feels like I'm frozen, and dull, and struck dumb. I just want to lie down and never— never wake up. How wretchedly ungrateful is that?"

"Ah," Professor Dittany nods solemnly. He fixes his glasses and gazes intently at Credence. "You mean melancholia, my boy? It's not as uncommon as you think. After the war, many wizards came back with what Muggles call shell-shock. How often do you experience this, Mr Barebone?"

Credence shrugs, staring into his cauldron bubbling with Forgetfulness Potion. "Sometimes— every few weeks. Since I was a child. Sometimes it will last for days, and sometimes it's gone for a month, and I think it'll be gone forever, but it comes back again."

"Since a child, you say?" Professor Dittany says softly. He pats Credence's hand. "All right. We can brew something for that. What I have in mind grew incredibly popular after the war."

God, magic is amazing. "And will it cure me?" 

Professor Dittany frowns. "It will _help_ , not cure." He heaves a sigh, folding his hands together and looking up at the ceiling. "You must understand, Mr Barebone— as wonderful as magic is, it is not a cure-all. It's one of the reasons that we avoid letting Muggles know we exist, because they may think that we can solve all of their problems.

"Think of it this way— a plate that gets broken and has _reparo_ cast upon it, is, technically, fixed. But even ordinary objects have memory, you see. That plate may be whole and fixed, but at one point, it _was_ broken. It might be a little more fragile than the others of the same set. It's still perfect to use, but you must take care to make sure the same cracks don't appear again.

"The human psyche can be repaired with time, but it still needs effort to make sure it still functions well. So, in this example— trauma can cause those breaks like in the plate. The potion is _reparo_ cast, but you must also be sure that it is not the only thing you rely on— you must make sure that you treat yourself with regular care. Make sure that the plate will not break again. Make sure you rest, do things you enjoy, don't work all the time. Do you understand?" 

Credence is a little overwhelmed with the information, but two main things are on his mind. One, he might not have as many days where he feels that awful emptiness. And two— "Please don't tell Mr Graves."

Professor Dittany nods. "That's up to you, of course. The Draft of Peace. I'll have to brew it myself, as it's fairly complicated and more advanced than where you're at right now. I'd recommend you to watch, though. And if it's not enough, we'll try adding in the Euphoria Elixir. And Credence—"

Credence looks up at Professor Dittany, who rarely, if ever, uses his first name. "Yes?"

"It's okay to rely on people. Know that. I think your Mr Graves is one of the absolute last people in this world that would ever judge you for something like this."

* * *

Despite Professor Dittany's assurances, Credence hides the bottle of potion in his beside table. Mr Graves, however, comes upon it one day while he's searching for his scorpion stickpins. Newt had visited the day before, and the Niffler had absconded with them and scuttled off into Credence's room, which was warm and quiet and had wonderful hiding places. Credence had caught him, tickled out his various stolen treasures, and placed the stickpins safely into his bedside drawer for safekeeping, but had forgotten. When Mr Graves asks after them, Credence is busy at the stove with a new recipe, and absently mentions that he hid the stickpins in the drawer.

"Credence?" Mr Graves asks softly when he returns from Credence's room. Credence looks over his shoulder to see Mr Graves standing behind him, holding the bottle.

"Yes? Oh. I— Mr Graves, please—" Credence panics. Mr Graves is going to be so ashamed to see that Credence is still defective, after everything he's done for him.

"Sit, Credence," Mr Graves says softly, patting the kitchen table. "I want to tell you something." Credence shuts off the stove, and drops into the chair at the table across from Mr Graves, refusing to look up.

Mr Graves sighs, rolling the bottle between his hands. "Did I ever tell you that I was in the Great War, Credence?"

Credence shakes his head. "I don't think so." Of course Mr Graves is a war hero.

"I knew many people that came back and had to take this. I took it for a time, until I felt better."

"You did?" Credence asks desperately, looking up at Mr Graves.

Mr Graves nods. "In fact— I probably should have taken it a little longer than I did," he says softly. "I had preconceived notions about that sort of thing— thought that if I came back in one piece, I wasn't like all the others, that I didn't need it. I was wrong, though. It helped me sort out my thoughts; let me be able to _think,_ rather than just worry. That war was— it was _awful,_ Credence. People aren't supposed to go through things like that, and to think that you can come out okay afterwards... After all you've been through, I'm not surprised you'd need something like this."

"Professor Dittany thinks I might be on it the rest of my life," Credence mumbles, ashamed, even after Mr Graves' confession.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Credence," Mr Graves says firmly. He sets the bottle down on the table, and grips Credence's hands in his. "You've been through so much, for so long. Your happiness is the utmost important thing to me, Credence. If you need something more than what I can provide, then I want you to have it. You _deserve_ to be healthy and happy, Credence." 

* * *

Tuesday morning, Credence knows something is wrong immediately when the first cup of coffee has cooled and there is yet to be any sign of Percival sniffing after it in the kitchen. Both Credence and Percival are fond of routine and order, and especially breakfasting together.

Credence bites his lip as he knocks on Percival's bedroom door. They've been taking it slow. Percival asked to _court_ Credence, like some fantasy romance hero. Just kissing sets Credence's whole body on fire; he's not entirely sure he would continue to exist if he allowed himself to sleep in bed with Percival.

"Percival? Are you all right?" Credence asks cautiously. "You're going to be late for work."

No answer. Credence gently pushes inside, then gapes at the disaster before him.

Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security of MACUSA, is wobbling around like a flobberworm. He stumbles into his dresser, which has never moved in the sixteen years he's lived in the brownstone, and stubs his toe. _"Fuck."_

"You look _awful,"_ Credence blurts out. Percival sniffs, and insisting he's perfectly fine, dresses with a wave of his wand. Several of his buttons on his vest are still undone, and one of his scorpion stick-pins is missing. 

"Percival," Credence pleads, "I really don't think you should go to work today—"

"Crime doesn't sleep, Credence, darling," Percival says, then sneezes horribly, three times in succession.

"Bless you. Well, I destroyed half of New York, and considering that's a crime and I sleep in a very comfortable bed, I'd say crime _can_ rest," Credence says dryly, pushing Percival back towards his bed. "And so can you. You sound like an Erumpent, you know."

Credence starts unbuttoning Percival's vest and shirt for him, face reddening increasingly the more Percival's skin is revealed. He didn't really think this part through.

Percival hangs his head, resting it on Credence's shoulder. "I'm so miserable I can't even enjoy this," he mutters. 

Credence lets out a high-pitched choke of a laugh. "I'm enjoying it, a little. I'd much rather you weren't sick, though."

Percival looks up and aims a fever-addled smile at Credence. "Did you take your potion, dear heart?" He says it so gently.

Credence nods. Percival asks him everyday if he's remembered to take his Draft of Peace. It makes it easier for Credence to feel normal about it, the way Percival asks so casually. Reminds him. "That's a new one," Credence smiles back shyly. 

"I have so many things I want to call you, Credence, darling," Percival sighs, finally allowing himself to be pushed back into bed now that he's undressed. "Beloved, sweetheart, dear one, treasure, sweetness, _kitten..."_

Christ Almighty, Mercy Lewis, no-maj gods or magical elders, _whoever_ is listening— Credence is going to _combust._ "Perhaps save them for another day?" he squeaks, quickly tucking Percival back tightly under the duvet. Without another look, Credence hurries out to the living room fireplace.

"Don't be too long, angel!"

* * *

"Professor Dittany!" Credence calls.

The skinny wizard jumps at the sudden call. "Mr Barebone?" He adjusts his glasses and glances at his clock on the wall, where the hour hand still declares it breakfast, not lessons. "You're early."

"Yes, I'm so sorry," Credence says, halfway between his fire and Professor Dittany's. "It's Mr Graves, I think he's sick, and we're out of Pepperup potion, and I don't want to leave him alone to go shopping, and—"

"Slow down, son," Professor Dittany says. 

Credence does not slow down. "But the fever—"

"A bit of suffering gives a man character," Professor Dittany says. Credence privately thinks that he and Percival have been through enough suffering to give character to an army of men. "Now, I don't keep any in stock. It's much better to brew it fresh, anyway. I'll bring the ingredients and we'll skip forward to the Pepperup lesson for today, rather than the Wiggenweld."

* * *

"Well done, Mr Barebone," Professor Dittany nods overtop of the cauldron. "I have to say— your potions-brewing is perfectly adequate, though by no means exceptional."

Credence frowns. "Will it not be good enough for Mr Graves?"

"Now see, Mr Barebone, the reason why I say this, is because your Pepperup is in fact, exceptional," Professor Dittany explains. "This is the _art_ of potions making. To put a bit of one's self into the potion makes all the difference. I imagine that being raised among Muggles, you might find potions, even any sort of magic, difficult because it's hard to understand that the end result will actually work. I can tell you that Wiggenweld replenishes your stamina, and you might make it with no particular interest because you have no need for it, and therefore your potion turns out textbook. However, I could also tell you that it heals injuries, which might make you more invested in adding your belief, your magic, your soul, your love into it. It all depends on your dedication to the brew. Do you understand?"

Credence blushes. "So— it turned out better because I care for Mr Graves?"

"Precisely. Do you remember when I asked you if you loved to cook, that you might find potions similar? Why do you love to cook, Mr Barebone? If you were only cooking for yourself, would you put as much care, as much love, into the food? Or do you love to cook when you provide for someone? That's what makes all the difference."

"I'm sorry that I'm not doing better. It's not that I don't care—"

Professor Dittany waves him off. "You are incredibly dedicated, Mr Barebone, I have no doubts about that. But that's what makes me a potions master. I feel no offence that you're not turning out amazing potions every time. Not all wizards are good at all types of magic. I am simply a teacher here to guide you, not to turn you into a prodigy."

"Mr Graves is awful at charms." Credence grimaces. Then he winces. "Please don't tell him I told you that." Percival takes it as a challenge whenever he's reminded of it, and tends to make messes worse.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Credence, darling?"

"You're supposed to be in bed!" Credence hisses, standing up immediately. Dealing with a sick Percival is like herding cats; his animagus form makes so much sense.

Percival has at least donned a robe, rather than attempt a full outfit again or walk around freezing in his underthings. "Well, I thought perhaps— I'd get the paper, and I didn't want to bother you for toast and tea, and I thought I'd come see you anyway—"

"Enough," Credence pleads, leading him back to bed. "I was just in the other room, you could have just called for me, I don't want you to get up until you're well."

* * *

Credence gets Percival tucked back into bed, then fetches potion, toast, and tea, slathered with butter and honey. And the newspaper, of course. How incredibly important the paper is, when Percival is so ill. He first gets Percival to down the Pepperup, and feeds him toast as it does its work. Credence lets out a breath of a laugh. Steam flowing out of human Percival's ears is funny enough, but...

"What are you laughing at?" Percival groans, finished with his toast and tea.

"I just— I thought of if you drank the potion in your animagus form, the steam—" Credence giggles helplessly. "Out of— your furry ears—"

A slow smile crosses Percival's tired face, crow's-feet coming to form. "You're so lovely when you laugh, sweetheart," Percival says hoarsely, eyes slipping closed. Credence blushes, and dares to stroke his cheek.

"Feel better, Percival," Credence whispers.

"Stay?"

Stay? Stay _where?_

"Here," Percival pats his bed. Oh. _Oh._ "I don't want you to get sick, but I feel like I haven't seen you all day. Your lessons are over, aren't they?" It's eleven-o'clock in the morning. Percival hasn't seen him for only an hour— during which Credence harassed Professor Dittany into an early lesson of Pepperup Potion, just in the room beside Percival's.

"And read you the paper?" Credence asks, fond. "Sports?"

"Of course," Percival murmurs. "What could be better than you in my bed, reading to me about how Ireland is going to kick Bulgaria's ass?"

Credence isn't going to think about that.

(Well. Until later, of course.)

He carefully settles himself uptop the covers, sitting on Percival's left, then fluffs out the pages of _The New York Ghost_ to page seven. "Bulgaria is favorite to win the cup— but Ireland is right behind. Oh, this is the journalist you like. Adrian Websnout. You said he was the most competent moron of the lot? Ah... The last few weeks have been spectacular for Bulgaria, which you'd know if you haven't been living under a leaping toadstool. That's not to say every game has been perfect..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, a canadian: what is........ a borough.... 
> 
> i'm pretty sure that graves thinks credence's full name is credence darling at this point.
> 
> i haven't really expanded on it, but basically this story assumes that events happen like tina attacks mary lou, gets suspended, graves meets credence once or twice, newt shows up with case, tina drags him down to MACUSA where pastry suitcase happens, grindelcuck takes over, etc.
> 
> this kinda squeezes the timeline a little bit wrt the movie, but i just like the idea that graves and credence meet before grindelgraves takes over, and i liked the way graves sighs tina's name when the case opens to show pastries-- it is the MOST exasperated older brother/father figure/big mentor sigh that i feel like grindelcuck wouldn't be able to pull off.
> 
> madam pomfrey administers the draught of peace to the kids taking their OWLS and NEWTS in ootp i think? specifically for their anxiety of taking the exams. i figure as anxiety and depression love to go hand-in-hand, it might be a suitable solution for credence's depression. other listed potions on the hp wiki don't particularly match up for depression otherwise, and other than making up book and restaurant names, i kinda like to pull in stuff from the books.


	4. plucking petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Wednesday, Mr Graves and the future Mr Graves fall a little more in love (and make a little more).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all so much for ur comments and kudos. i kinda started this story without any sort of idea of what i was getting into, and i'm so glad it's been so well-received. <3
> 
> next chapter might be (and take) a little longer. it's gonna be a percival pov chapter.
> 
> (guess what. we finally earn the M rating for the story this chapter ;) had half a mind to get real E, but i felt keeping it more M/romantic fit a little better for this story. have fun with my badly written porn!)

How Credence Barebone nearly blows up several wand shops during his first two months of living in wizarding society is this:

  * Percival Graves insists on taking Credence Barebone to every available wandmaker in MACUSA. This includes Johannes Jonker, Shikoba Wolfe, Thiago Quintana, and Violetta Beauvais. (Incidentally, this is also the order in which they visit them, and the order of who's eyes get widest over the explosions Credence produces when he waves a wand.)
  * Credence Barebone is magic. According to Percival Graves, that is enough for exploding buildings. Mr Graves and all the wandmakers insist that accidents happen when a new wizard gets his first wand. (The wide eyes of the shop owners seem imply that these are too big and unexpected accidents, though.)
  * Newt Scamander begins to talk about Gervaise Ollivander, the British choice for wandmakers, and Percival Graves gets a glint in his eyes that Credence Barebone absolutely must extinguish. (Newt is eventually convinced that a trip to Diagon Alley is unnecessary, but Mr Graves still seems to have ideas about stealing away Newt's suitcase for reasons other than respecting the law. Over in England, Mr Ollivander and his son Garrick feel a great relief upon entering their shop the next day, but are not sure why.)
  * Holding a real wand feels nothing like holding the stick that Credence Barebone found Modesty Barebone hiding under her bed. That had felt like ordinary wood, but the wands feel like fire crawling up Credence's arm, and in attempting to shake off the feeling like one would an insect, Credence sends explosions flying out of the wands and burns them to ash. (Sometimes, absolutely nothing happens at all, and the crushing disappointment is somehow even worse than the spike of anxiety from an outburst of destruction.)



"Maybe I'm not meant to have a wand," Credence sighs when they return home from Louisiana, their last stop whereupon Credence had set a swamp on fire. A _swamp._

 _"Hm_ ," Mr Graves hums, as they walk home from the designated portkey spot. Credence looks at him, a little worried. Mr Graves never agrees with Credence when he's being self-deprecating. Perhaps he really isn't—

"You know, Credence," Mr Graves says thoughtfully, "considering how long the obscurus fed upon you— perhaps you just have _too much_ magic for a wand to contain."

"Too _much?"_ Credence splutters. Surely after removing the obscurus, Credence must have _less_ magic?

"It's quite clear that you have magic, can _do_ magic," Mr Graves continues. "I think that perhaps you're just too powerful to flow all your magic through such a precise instrument." Then, Mr Graves, for lack of any better term Credence knows, lights up.

"You know— Credence, my boy, perhaps you just have an affinity for wandless magic!" Mr Graves says excitedly, stopping in his tracks.

"Wandless magic?" Credence says, struck by the expression on Mr Graves' face. "Me?" Every single witch and wizard Credence has seen has a wand. Credence has seen Mr Graves do some magic without his wand, but the man tends to always have it on his person no matter what.

"Credence," Mr Graves says seriously, putting his hands on Credence's shoulders. "I think we've been going about this all wrong. We are going to make you _brilliant_ at wandless magic, and I don't think it'll take much, if _any,_ effort from you at all. You know, the Native Americans actually only used wandless magic until they traded magical techniques with Ilvermorny, and I believe many African tribes still..."

* * *

Right after that, Madam Beatrice Harker comes into their employment. A very tall and positively _ancient_ woman, with huge glasses perched on a beak-like nose, Credence gets the impression from her pointed teeth that she is not entirely human, but feels it rude to ask. She meets them for afternoon lunch in the brownstone. Credence had politely asked Mr Graves to remove himself from the kitchen when he tried to 'help' make lunch. They were short of a toaster, now, as it had scuttled off somewhere after billowing black smoke and spitting out burnt bread.

"Percy," Madam Harker acknowledges Mr Graves, who grimaces.

"Professor Harker taught me transfiguration at Ilvermorny," Mr Graves says to Credence, ignoring the childish nickname with a dignified expression.

"And charms, not that that was successful," Madam Harker sniffs. "The most wonderful transfiguration, but absolutely dismal charms for such an accomplished auror." She peers around the brownstone. "Still dismal, I see."

Then she fixes her sharp eyes on Credence.

"What sort of wand are you using, Mr Barebone?"

Credence looks worriedly over at Mr Graves, who steps in smoothly.

"Credence has found wandless magic responds to him a little more naturally," Mr Graves says. Credence has found nothing of the sort, but Credence also lived twenty-two years not knowing he was a wizard, only performing outbursts of violent magic via obscurus. Mr Graves likely knows better. Madam Harker simply raises an eyebrow.

"But you'd like me to instruct him as though he were a beginner?" she asks.

"Yes," Mr Graves nods. "A do-over, if you will."

Madam Harker sighs. "Percy Graves, I thought I was done with your and Seraphina Picquery's shenanigans when you two graduated." Mr Graves opens his mouth, but Madam Harker holds up a hand. "No, _no,_ don't tell me. Mr Barebone is my student now; I'll _not_ be dealing with you any longer." 

"You'll really teach me? Magic— t-transfiguration and charms, I mean?" Credence says. He can hardly believe it— _him,_ Credence Barebone, learning proper magic like a regular witch. Wizard. Just like the false Mr Graves had promised, before he ruined everything. Just like the real Mr Graves had promised, and followed through.

Madam Harker nods. "We'll fast-track you through it. I've had enough of reading student essays; you can read textbooks on your own."

And so Madam Harker agrees to meet with Credence every Wednesday for four hours, teaching him transfiguration and charms wandlessly. 

"I pray that you excel at household charms, Mr Barebone," Madam Harker says. She points with her wand at a stain beside the sink that Credence has tried in vain for four weeks to remove. He's pretty sure it _moves,_ just to mess with him. "Something like _that_ is easy to remove when you're not Percy Graves, and can only be removed by magic. _Scourgify."_

Credence is pretty sure he would build a blasphemous shrine just for Madam Beatrice Harker in that instant.

* * *

It turns out that Credence does indeed have an affinity for wandless magic. Completely unlike the burning feeling that he would get just from holding a wand, Credence performs magic by waving his hands like he was born doing so. It doesn't take Madam Harker longer than a week to figure out that Credence has never performed proper magic before, wand or not.

"I can't believe how easy it is," Credence says, examining his hands as if seeing them for the first time. It doesn't feel at all like the obscurus; raging destruction that left Credence exhausted and full of confusing nightmares. It feels warm and exciting and _wonderful._

"Still a troublemaker, that Graves boy," Madam Harker mutters. "You know, I was his head of Wampus for seven years, and no other child besides Seraphina Picquery caused any other head of house as much trouble as he did me."

"Wampus?" Credence asks, in the middle of trying to turn a needle into a match— Madam Harker's first transfiguration lesson for him.

"Well, the greatest house at Ilvermorny of course," Madam Harker sniffs, affronted.

"Ilvermorny?" Credence repeats. He gets the feeling that Madam Harker is a _talker._ Ma would say _verbose_. Credence has heard Misses Tina and Queenie and Mr Graves mention Ilvermorny before (and Newt insisting on something called hogwash, but he's not entirely sure), but he bets that Madam Harker is the one with all the stories he wants to hear about a young Mr Graves at wizard school. (Even if they seem like a lie. Mr Graves, a troublemaker?)

"Never heard of Ilvermorny?" Madam Harker splutters. "Deliverance Dane, where _have_ you been living, boy? In a closet, under some stairs?"

Credence doesn't get a chance to reply before Madam Harker starts on a tangent.

"Mercy Lewis, what Percy and Sera got up to! Sorted into Wampus and Horned Serpent, and seconds after that, their first day, their _first hour_ , I swear, they both got into the potions storage room..."

* * *

Credence picks up transfiguration and charms extremely easy, and it is difficult to tell between Credence, Mr Graves, and Madam Harker which of the three are the most proud about it. Madam Harker is definitely the most vocal, though.

"Take a look at _that,_ Percy Graves!" Madam Harker waves her hands two months into lessons, when Percival takes a half day (forced, of course, due to a stinging hex received on the job in the morning) and accompanies Credence during one of his lessons at Madam Harker's cottage. "Isn't that the most _perfect_ execution of a scouring charm you've ever seen?"

"Wonderful, Credence," Mr Graves says, bestowing a kind smile upon Credence, who is currently five shades of red in the face. "Congratulations."

"Ha! Not that you would know!" Madam Harker barks. "I bet Credence will have that entire brownstone clean like an actual adult lives there by the end of the week! Maybe you should attend these lessons regularly and see what a proper wizard can do with charms!"

Credence is both proud of and discouraged by this. He's been keeping the home clean as best he can, but when there are stains that he has to chase from the floor up onto the ceiling, sometimes a young man has to give up and wait to learn magic for it.

* * *

Over the course of three months of charms and transfiguration lessons, Credence comes to learn what, exactly, it means to be a Wampus alum.

For Madam Harker, it means that she constantly berates and challenges Mr Graves into attempting simple household charms, mostly because she enjoys cackling at a grown wizard failing miserably at them.

For Mr Graves, it means that his warrior pride puffs out like a disgruntled bird, and he attempts those simple household charms, and fails just as miserably as he did in school.

He takes these challenges so seriously, that Credence comes home one day to find Mr Graves... cleaning. Or at least, attempting to.

"Just a simple _scourgify_ , Credence," Mr Graves huffs, rolling up his sleeves and pushing his hair back. Credence takes a moment to admire his strong, bare forearms before realizing what is about to happen. _Oh, fuck._ "Nothing to fret about. _Scourgify._ "

"Oh, Mr Graves, please—" pleads Credence, too late. He sighs, then slumps down into a kitchen chair, defeated.

"Ah, well," Mr Graves says, disgruntled. "Sometimes that happens." The stain now has a clean hole in the middle, but is twice the size it was before and is slowly oozing further away up the wall.

It looks like Credence is going to have to be the one to tell him. "Mr Graves, you know— Madam Harker only pushes you so much because she finds it funny that you keep trying. Aren't you the one that told me not all wizards are good at all types of magic?"

What Credence really wants to say is, _Sit down, you silly man. I just cleaned the kitchen this morning and left a couple things, you're only going to make things worse. She's just torturing you because she likes to laugh._

"Well, yes," Mr Graves sighs, slumping down into one of the kitchen chairs beside Credence. "It's just— you do so much for me, Credence."

Credence wants to scoff, but it would be rude. Frankly, Credence doesn't do _enough_ to pay back everything Mr Graves has done for him, given him.

"You cook, and you clean, and you study, and you practice your lessons, and all I do is come home and mess up the house," Mr Graves sighs again.

"I don't know how to pay you back otherwise," Credence says quietly. "I owe you _everything._ I don't know— I'm not... useful for anything." Credence isn't even that good at cooking or cleaning. He's just not sure what else to do for Mr Graves.

"You don't _owe_ me _anything,_ Credence," Mr Graves frowns. "And you don't need to be _useful._ I didn't invite you to live here because I wanted a— a house elf." Credence knows what those are now, since he's visited MACUSA many times with Mr Graves. "Is this why you've been running yourself ragged, lately?"

Credence shrugs, staring down at the table. "I don't know how to— how to say thank you, otherwise. Anything I do— it's not enough."

"Credence, that absolutely _is_ enough," Mr Graves says. "All you ever need to do is say thank you, and I know. And even if you don't, I know you mean to, because that's the kind of person you are. I don't hire you tutors so that you can learn to clean my house. I don't give you dragots so you become trapped in my debt. I give you these things because I can, and I want to see you happy, the way you should have been able to all your life."

"He would say I was special," Credence whispers, unable to stop his thoughts from drifting to Grindelwald. _You are a miracle._ "That I'd be led to greatness, and there to stand beside him." _Honored among wizards, forever._ "And then I was useless to him. Unteachable." _I'm done with you._ "I don't want to be useless to you." _  
_

But the real Mr Graves never says things like that. He calls Credence wonderful, and praises him when he gets things right, and consoles him when he gets things wrong. He never dismisses Credence. He knows that if he says _help me_ , the real Mr Graves will. That Mr Graves wants Credence happy and healthy. Credence knows this, but it's still hard to recall when he messes up that Mr Graves won't leave him behind in an alley, that Mary Lou won't be waiting to be handed his belt when he arrives home.

"He manipulated you, Credence," Mr Graves says seriously. "He said those things so he could get what he wanted. You _are_ special, and you _are_ great, and you are _not_ useless and you are _not_ unteachable. He hurt you because that's the kind of person he is."

 _I thought you were my friend._ "Are you my friend?" Credence asks, barely audible. _Freak.  
_

 _"Yes,_ Credence," Mr Graves intones. "I don't say that lightly. I don't tend to make friends. I'm not very good at it. But I'd say you're one of my very best, and I hope that you feel the same."

Sometimes the difference between the fake Mr Graves and the real Mr Graves is so, _so_ stark and obvious. The real Mr Graves is serious, and stern, and intense, but he is also kind, and funny, and...

"So... why don't you tell me what you really thought when you saw me trying to remove that stain? You should have seen your face, it was so distraught, Credence. You can tell me to fuck off, you know. You love the kitchen more than anything else." The real Mr Graves _swears._

Credence chokes, looking up at Mr Graves. "I would never—"

"C'mon," Mr Graves cajoles, nearly hiding a small smile behind his hand. "First thing that popped into your mind when you saw me in your kitchen."

"I— Oh, _fuck,"_ Credence groans, laying his head in his arms on the table, unable to stop himself from cursing. "Sorry— God, I thought— I _just_ cleaned, Mr Graves, you _must_ know Madam Harker riles you up just to laugh, I left that stain because I was going to get it later and try a new spell when you were home—"

"There, there," Mr Graves laughs, patting Credence's shoulder. "Get it all out. What a horrible bastard I was, infringing on your space. I found and fixed the toaster, by the way."

"Thank you," Credence laughs, lifting his head up to gaze at Mr Graves. "Thank you, Mr Graves."

Maybe... maybe that could be enough.

"Call me Percival, Credence," Mr Graves smiles, full and bright. "And thank _you,_ for everything."

* * *

Seven months of living together and two months of dating in, Credence has finally learned the ultimate spell (well, besides _scourgify_ , of course).

When Percival apparates into the front hall, Credence immediately grabs him by the hands and drags him into the kitchen. "I want to show you something," Credence says excitedly, not even bothering to let Percival remove his scarf and coat.

"Hello, sweetheart," Percival laughs, offering no resistance to Credence's pull.

"Hi, yes, welcome home, Percival," Credence says, barely stopping to peck him on the cheek and wait for one in return. He stops in front of the kitchen table, which has the vase that Credence loves to put flowers in. The ones that Percival buys for him non-stop, but hasn't yet this week.

Credence waves his hands in a circle above the vase and says, _"Orchideous!"_ A bouquet of flowers blossom in the vase, and Credence bypasses the white violets fondly and pulls out a red carnation, presenting it shyly to Percival, who seems to be unable to look up from Credence's hands. While Percival is distracted, Credence carefully tucks it into the breast pocket of Percival's coat, just over his heart.

"That's wonderful, Credence," Percival says finally, a little hoarse, plucking an orange blossom from the bunch and slipping it into Credence's hair just above his ear. He gently pulls Credence's left hand up and kisses his knuckles, gazing tenderly into Credence's eyes.

Credence blushes. "They're the same as the ones you bought for me. The first time, I mean."

Percival takes another look at the bouquet and lights up.

"Oh, Credence, sweetheart," Percival says, pulling Credence into his arms. He kisses Credence gently, pulls back to look at the flush of Credence's face and the orange blossom beside his dark eyes, and kisses him once more, hungrier.

Percival has never kissed him like this before; has always been so gentle and soft. Credence is a little scared by how much he likes this version. "I— I made dinner," Credence says breathlessly, when they pull apart. He'd be a puddle on the floor were it not for Percival's arms around his waist.

Percival raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Is dinner really what you're thinking about right now?"

Credence spent all day cooking a new recipe. He could not tell you a single ingredient that it involves, now, with Percival looking at him so devilishly like that.

"It'll keep, Credence," Percival says, trailing kisses along Credence's throat. "Do you know—" Credence doesn't know _anything_ , honestly, Percival Graves, how can the man _not_ understand that when he's reducing Credence to a pile of mush? "— the spell to keep it warm?" _Pull yourself together, Credence._

"Yes, I, uh— I know the spell," Credence says. He thinks. What spell, again?

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart."

Well. Credence is pretty sure he knows the answer to _that_ , at least.

"Take me to bed?"

"Anything you desire, darling," Percival murmurs in Credence's ear, and sweeps him off his feet with strong arms.

* * *

"Have you ever done anything like this before?" Percival asks as he gently lays Credence down on his soft bed.

Credence shakes his head shyly. "N-no. Never." But—

"I've never wanted to so badly," Credence whispers.

"What do you want to do?"

 _Everything with you_ , Credence thinks stupidly. "I don't know," Credence says finally. "I— just, don't stop—" _—touching_ _me,_ Credence thinks. He's pretty sure Percival knows what he couldn't finish, the way the older man strokes his thumb over Credence's cheekbone like he never wants to let go. _You were my first kiss. I want you to be my first everything.  
_

"I love you, Credence," Percival says, for the first time.

Credence feels tears spring to the corners of his eyes. "Oh, I— Percival—"

"You don't have to say it back—"

"I love you," Credence interrupts, desperate for Percival to know, reaching up to cradle Percival's face in his hands. "I think I've loved you since we met." If he makes Percival happy a fraction of how he makes Credence, then he wants him to know how easy it was to fall for Percival.

Percival's eyes soften with the smile that he only ever bestows upon Credence. "I want to make love to you, Credence, if you'll let me."

"Yes," Credence chokes out immediately. "Please. Show me— show me how to love you."

Credence's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest. The only thing that stops it, he thinks, is that this closely pressed to Percival, Credence can tell that both their hearts are beating as fast as each other's. He's never felt so safe.

Every stroke of Percival's fingers sets Credence's body on fire. Carefully, they undress each other, constantly reaching out and reaffirming with devouring kisses until they're both laid bare. Both their hands tremble oh-so slightly; Credence, a little shy with unfamiliarity, and Percival, for some odd reason that Credence can't figure out.

"Is this okay, Credence?" Percival asks, voice deep. Credence's whole body is a live wire of arousal, his bare chest brushing against the soft thatch of hair on Percival's chest, nipples hardening from the friction.

 _"Yes,"_ Credence gasps out, unable to stop his hips from rolling up into Percival's. "Yes— God, Percival, _please—"_

"I've got you, baby," Percival soothes, tenderly running his palm down Credence's flank and kissing him deeply. "I've got you."

"I want to touch you," Credence blurts when they pull apart, struck by the searing heat of Percival's length, hard and pressed against his.

"Anything," Percival groans, leaving a trail of wet kisses along Credence's collar bone. Credence carefully rests his hand on Percival's shaft, swallows at how velvet-soft it feels in his grasp. He cautiously begins to stroke. Credence has only done this a few times to himself, for fear of God and the belt.

"Is it okay?" He asks, biting his lip.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Percival affirms, pulling Credence's bitten out lip by his own teeth and laving it with his tongue. He brushes his thumbs across Credence's nipples, and Credence shudders. "Can I put my mouth on you, love?"

Credence nods, swallowing heavily. Percival gently takes Credence's hand off his leaking cock, and twines the fingers of their hands together above Credence's head, pinned to the pillows. He drops devoted lips to seemingly every inch of Credence's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and then reaches his right nipple, sucking gently.

Credence's hips jerk immediately, toes curling. "Percival," Credence whines, overcome by pleasure. Percival's fingers squeeze his.

"Feel good, darling?" Percival asks, eyes dark as they gaze into Credence's. Without waiting for an answer, he switches to Credence's left nipple, leaving the right glistening, red, and swollen. When he finishes with the left, reducing Credence to a whining mess, he kisses his way back up to Credence's mouth, swallowing down every noise Credence lets out.

They gently rock together, Credence's head tucked into the crook of Percival's neck, Percival anchoring Credence down with his whole body. Percival frees Credence's hand to grasp at his side, pressing their hips impossibly closer. Credence daringly slides his empty hand into Percival's hair, gripping it tight. He feels a wave of euphoria wash over, and he bites at Percival's bottom lip. Their release is electric; Credence crying out first, overwhelmed by the intimacy of Percival's ardent adoration. Percival groans, following closely after, slumping overtop of Credence in satiation, before rolling onto his side and pulling Credence to drape over him.

Credence laughs, blinking a tear out of the corner of his eye, unable to believe everything that just happened wasn't a dream. "Kiss me, Mr Graves," he says softly, playfully, breathlessly, smiling across at Percival.

Percival smiles back at him, crow's feet appearing just for Credence. "Anything for you, dear heart." He squeezes Credence's fingers again, then swoops down to press his love into Credence.

* * *

Later, after a nap, Percival is curled around Credence, dropping lazy kisses on his bare shoulder and stroking along his arm. Credence thinks that he's never felt such warmth in his soul before. His toes are still curled from delight.

"Was that— was I okay?" Credence whispers, finally able to ask now that Percival's not gazing into his eyes. Now that Credence doesn't have to see Percival's hair tousled from Credence's fingers running through it, and his lips reddened from Credence biting them as he reached release.

"Credence, my love," Percival rumbles against his back, arms coming to bracket around his waist and pull him closer, "you were perfect. You're always so perfect. How do you feel?"

Credence no longer has a brain, he's pretty sure. He shivers at the ghosting of stubble at his neck. "I never thought— I was always told it was bad. Sinful." He swallows heavily. "It was so— perfect." There's really no other word for it, he's pretty sure.

"Good, I'm glad," Percival murmurs. "You deserve the world, Credence. I want to give you everything."

"You have," Credence whispers. "You've given me everything I've ever wanted; everything I thought I never deserved." _You're my everything._

"I love you, Credence," Percival says. "Never doubt that."

"I love you, too, Percival," Credence says immediately. "I want to give you everything, too." He laughs a little. "You know— I don't think I've ever cried from happiness, before."

"I never want to make you cry, otherwise."

Credence hums, content. Thinking can be saved for later. "So much for courting, huh?" he teases, turning in Percival's arms to face the man.

Percival grins at him. Credence's heart flutters in his chest. "Well, we gave it our best shot. It's hard to resist a creature as gorgeous as you requesting to take them to bed."

Credence blushes and buries his face in Percival's chest. "Yes, well— it's hard to resist a man as handsome as you."

And, well— if Credence has his way, there won't be any resisting at all between them, any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> orange blossom - innocence; eternal love; marriage and fruitfulness  
> red carnation - my heart aches for you; admiration
> 
> gee. what're u doin' with an orange blossom percy.
> 
> why did i decide wandless magic for credence? other than it just making sense, everyone and their mother has written credence getting a wand MUCH better than i ever could, and have done research to back up their choices.  
> also, about f'in time they had that equality talk. having a relationship when you think u owe someone is no bueno.
> 
> at times i write this, and i think? is this too soft and gay? and then i rewatch the gradence scenes in the movie and i see it's quite possibly not gay enough.
> 
> my notes on the orchideous scene:  
> -orchideous bc graves always brings credence flowers. uhhh something like i appreciate ur generosity?? something more romantic NO HE RECREATES THE BOUQUET PERCIVAL GAVE HIM THEIR FIRST DATE percy is like hot hamn they make out crednece is like whats a braincell uhhh dinner and graves is like really u want dinner and credence is like lmao take me to bed and thEY------ "dinner will keep" "Yes-i uh know the spell" "good" PICK HIM UP GRAVES HES UR FUTURE BRIDE
> 
> ten minutes earlier i had written:  
> -are they sleeping (in bed lol) together yet?????
> 
> well that's fanfic for u lmao.


	5. a pocket full of posies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Thursday, Mr Graves takes a trip to procure a gift for the future Mr Graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i disappeared into the harringrove fandom for a month.
> 
> welcome to the percival pov chapter!
> 
> honestly, i don't think it's as well polished as it should be, but i just want to get it out there. there was a lot more that i wanted to include, but the scenes just kept fighting me-- i think that maybe they just aren't meant to be right now, and may have overtaken the ultimate theme of the story.
> 
> thank u for being patient with my nonsense and pls enjoy <3

How Percival Graves falls in love with Credence Barebone is this:

  * Auror Porpentina Goldstein makes a grievous error against Rappaport's Law, and involves herself in picking up a stray no-maj like one would pick up a stray cat. Then _Wand Permit Officer_ Tina gets Director of Magical Security Percival Graves involved, because Madam President Seraphina Picquery had snapped, "Clean up after your children, Graves."
  * Percival Graves meets Credence Barebone's eyes when the young man looks up and hands him a pamphlet. Their fingers brush against each other's. Percival is pretty sure sparks fly.
  * Credence Barebone, no-maj of no-importance, blinks at Percival Graves, wizard of high-importance, and Credence's cheeks flush prettily as he bites his lower lip.
  * _Fuck,_ thinks Percival Graves.



Sometimes, Percival supposes it really was that easy. Percival had taken only one look at what he was sure to be some unremarkable no-maj, and instead had found himself captivated instantly by a shy smile (the hook), sharp jaw (the line), and dark feline eyes (the sinker).

The first time they meet is the day after Tina begs Percival to check on Credence Barebone.

"Please, sir," Tina says, barging into his office around seven o'clock in the evening without so much as a hello. Were it not for over twenty years of auror experience, Percival would have jolted in surprise and scattered the paperwork he was reading. Thankfully, Tina doesn't notice, so enthralled she is with her mission. "He's just a boy, and she beats him so bad, can you _please_ just check on him, at least?"

"Tina," Percival sighs. Percival likes to say that he doesn't play favorites, but Tina is almost like the little sister he never had.

For example, right now, she's bothered him all day about this no-maj, and won't take no for an answer.

For example, little sisters always seem to get their way, no matter how ridiculous the request.

This is how Percival finds himself listening to a madwoman preaching the sins of his kind, with alarming outlandishness (and, occasionally, worrisomely accurate information). He would be cold were it not for the warming charm he cast on his winter clothing. The surrounding no-majes, on the other hand, sometimes let out small shivers and make their departures from the crowd, interest lost by the cold and tempted by food and warmth elsewhere. As the crowd disperses, Percival's eyes catch on the boy beside the preaching woman.

The boy— a young man, really, but difficult to accurately tell by his malnourished frame at first glance— shivers non-stop. He wears no gloves as he hands out pamphlets to those who leave the group, and his worn shoes and lack of coat do nothing to protect him from the biting wind. Somehow, his dark eyes pick out Percival among the crowd, despite the notice-me-not charm Percival cast as he left the Woolworth building. He really has to be the most peculiar no-maj Percival has ever come across. Percival can understand how Tina became so attached so quickly.

* * *

Percival's not quite sure why he offers his home to Credence so readily, other than the fact that something in his chest constricts at the idea of leaving the young man somewhere and never seeing him again. Of being trapped and alone again in his own home, with only the ghost of Grindelwald to torture him. There's likely much better, more capable places that could take care of Credence, and teach him magic, and can actually fucking cook, but...

Credence, scared and betrayed by a wizard who stole Percival's face, _saved_ him. Even emotionally destroyed by a monster and physically ripped apart and put back together again by another, Credence had found enough bravery inside of him to help Percival, to take a chance. That's not something Percival will be soon to forget. Percival has money and influence, enough to provide Credence with everything he should have been born into. Percival _promised_ him that he would make everything all right. He's not a man to go back on his word.

Percival thinks, at first, that it might be a little awkward, living with another person after having lived alone for over a decade. Hell, he didn't even really have people _visit._ Seraphina had judged his 'homely bachelor pad' one too many times for them to ever lunch anywhere but restaurants or MACUSA.

He finds, though, that he and Credence are actually pretty similar in their habits.

They both get up early. They're both quiet. They both enjoy jazz music, wizard and no-maj. Credence is frugal with everything, as, "Excess leads to gluttony, Mr Graves." Credence finds the brownstone _luxurious_ and loves the kitchen. (Take _that,_ Sera.) It's so quickly comforting, to come home to the lights on, house warm from a crackling fire and someone greeting him right in the foyer. To see Credence's smile get more easy, bigger, confident, every new day. To home-cooked meals, and long walks through Central Park, and someone to talk to about things other than work.

Really, Percival only needs to get Credence to call him by his first name, and by all accounts, he'll be the perfect roommate.

* * *

The first week of their living together, as soon as he's able to, Percival calls Tina into his office at the brownstone, while Credence experiments with a recipe in the kitchen. He apologizes to Tina for what Grindelwald did to her while hiding in his skin, and praises her for her ability to duel with the bastard by herself, and nearly managing to talk down the obscurus before the other aurors fucked it up. Then he gives her a second to wipe quickly under her eyes, before he gets to what he actually wants.

"Tina, I need your help while I'm not at work," Percival says. "I need you to help me find out what happened with Mary Lou Barebone and Credence's sisters, Chastity and Modesty."

"Of course, sir," Tina nods immediately. Tina is most definitely his favorite.

"When Credence found me, he said he killed them all, but I'm not entirely sure he did, as he was so distraught," Percival continues. "The Barebone woman's death was reported in the _Ghost,_ but I didn't see anything about the girls."

Tina frowns. "He said the same to me. And I did actually end up seeing that awful woman's body to confirm." Tina sighs. "It was the obscurus. It got the eldest girl, too. The pattern on the body is unmistakeable. But I don't know about the youngest one. Modesty. She's just a girl, Mr Graves."

"I know," Percival says solemnly. He remembers seeing the tiny blonde girl, handing out pamphlets a few steps away from Credence. Percival had noticed the ugly gloves on her hands, ones that were much too threadbare and large to be anything but the reason why Credence's own hands were bare. "Credence says her name in his sleep."

"Poor thing," Tina murmurs, eyes moving to the office door, where just beyond, Credence was puttering around in the kitchen.

"So, that's the first thing," Percival says. He's ready to move on, unfamiliar with wallowing. He's a man of action, if nothing else. "Unfortunately, there's not much we can do if we find her, if she's not a witch. But I want to be able to tell Credence if she's safe. And I want to try to find who his birth parents are."

* * *

Tina's always been Percival's favorite for a reason.

"I found his adoption papers!" Tina says excitedly. "She kept them, I can't _believe_ she kept them."

There's nothing fantastic about Credence's origins, but when Tina and Percival present their findings to him, Credence acts like it's the most wonderful thing in the world.

"Thank you," Credence says quietly. He hugs Tina, and even hugs Percival quickly. Percival's never felt so warm, so happy from helping someone.

"Modesty is safe, Credence," Tina says softly. "She's not a witch, from what we can tell. But I've made sure she's with a good family, I promise. She's doing well."

"I don't think it would be good for us to see each other," Credence sniffs heavily. "I scared her so badly. I'm glad she's okay. I'm glad I didn't kill her. I just want her to be happy."

"That's what we want for you, too, Credence," Tina says.

Percival couldn't have said it better himself.

* * *

Over the months of living together, Percival and Credence slip easily into a routine.

Credence, thank Merlin, can actually fucking cook. Percival shoves wallets full of dragots and sprinks at the young man and tells him to get whatever he needs that doesn't replenish magically in the cupboards. Ever since Percival took Credence down into the magical district market of New York, Credence has been so fascinated with taking in everything that Percival doesn't even need to convince him to go by himself. Monday mornings, when Credence does most of his shopping, he practically shoves Percival and his coffee out the door so he can get to the market that much quicker.

In October, after four months of living together, Percival idly watches Credence at the stove, and then is suddenly struck when Credence turns around and smiles brilliantly at him, presenting a steaming bowl of soup.

_Oh, fuck,_ thinks Percival. This is just like when they first met, and Percival couldn't drag his eyes off the sharp jaw of the Second Salemer boy that Tina kicked up a fuss about.

Credence was pretty, in a fragile sort of way, before he came to live with Percival. Since then, he walks a little taller, less hunched over, even taller than Percival. He's filled out, doesn't look as skeletal; more like his age, rather than a malnourished orphan boy. His hair has grown out of the harsh cut that Barebone woman favored before, and falls in soft waves against his cheekbones. He's learning magic, and coming into his own, confidence spreading throughout him.

Now, he's undeniably stunning, turning heads wherever they go, and Percival finds himself forced to drag his eyes off of Credence lest the young man catch on. Percival hoards their Sundays together like a Hungarian Horntail; there's no one else to take away Credence's attention. Percival nearly chokes on his own tongue when he accidentally calls Credence _darling_ on a lazy Sunday morning, and like a fool, can't stop it from slipping out many times after.

For Mercy Lewis' sake, Percival is going to be forty-fucking-three, and Credence is only twenty-two. He doesn't need some old man dogging after him in his own home, when he's got his whole life ahead of him.

* * *

It takes Percival two seconds of a soft smile to decide that he wants Credence to be his, and it takes him an entire month to muster up the courage to ask him out.

Before their first date, Percival practices the _orchideous_ conjuring spell for that whole month, as a way of procrastination. (How could he possibly ask Credence out if he doesn't have a bouquet to present him with? People still like flowers, right? Merlin's balls, he hasn't been on a date voluntarily in _years._ )

It's longer than he ever studied or practiced it at Ilvermorny. He thinks that Professor Harker would want to throttle him for such a dedication to conjuration, when he can't do charms for dragon shit. (Subsequently, he magicks up a bouquet of flowers every week for Credence, not letting the young man know that they're not store-bought. Sometimes they go for walks, and Percival sees Credence staring at a flower shop window, and he makes a note of the latest bouquet that attracts Credence's eye, and replicates them for him at home.)

Percival _lives_ for the blush and smile that bloom across Credence's lovely face.

* * *

The Tuesday after their first date, Percival practically floats into his office, thinking again about Credence wearing the green suit, and kissing him, and then Tina bursts in dramatically, slamming the door behind her. He's really got to give her a stern talking-to about barging in unannounced.

"Mr Graves, sir," Tina says importantly. "I need to talk to you about something."

That floating feeling disappears and Percival drops into his very-important-Mr-Graves-Director-of-Magical-Security façade.

"What is it, Tina?" he asks seriously.

"Sir, are you aware of how old Credence is?"

This is... not at all where he expected the conversation to go.

"He's twenty-two," Percival says. Credence's birthday is in April. _An Aries,_ Percival thinks fondly.

"Sir," Tina says, a little apprehensive, a little more frustrated. _"Sir,_ are you aware that he's just a few years younger than me? A year younger than Queenie?"

Oh, Merlin's saggy balls. "Yes."

_"Sir,"_ Tina says, a little testily, a little pointed. "Mr Graves, sir, you know I greatly admire you."

"Thank you, Tina. I admire you as well." Percival feels like his tie is choking him just from Tina's glare. If it's a spell, she needs to share it with him immediately.

"Well, forgive me for overstepping, _sir_ , but don't you think it's a little inappropriate?"

"Ah, Tina—"

"You know, _sir,"_ Tina starts on a tangent, "I would have expected this from Abernathy or Wollenstein or even Smith, but not from you!"

"Tina—"

"You're twice his age, _sir,_ and he's living in _your home,_ and I thought you _cared_ about him!"

"I do—"

"How could you just— _exploit_ his crush on you like that?" Tina says, near hysterical. "I thought you were a good man! You were never like that with me or any of the rest of the junior aurors!"

Credence had a crush on him? "Tina, I really—"

"You two come to dinner every Saturday with us!"

"Tina!" Percival barks, startling her. She is _not_ being his favorite right now. "Enough. Sit _down_ and let's have a discussion where perhaps you yell at me a little less."

Tina breathes deeply through her nose and thumps into the chair across from him, continuing to glare. She's got more balls than the whole rest of the auror department combined. "By all means, _sir_. Tell me how you aren't some— some _creep."_

More balls than the whole of MACUSA. Circe's _tits._ Percival sighs. "All right, first of all, Tina, I want to thank you for caring so much about Credence."

"Someone should!" Tina interrupts. "Queenie seemed to think it was all fine!" 

Percival ignores that for later. "And I want you to know that I admire the fact that you came to confront me about your concerns, even though I'm your superior, because you're concerned I'm doing something wrong."

Tina's eyes start glistening a little. Oh, fuck. Percival can't handle crying women. Crying anyone, really. Sera once spent an entire two weeks in fourth year purposefully crying at the drop of a hat, just to see what she could get him to do to get her to stop. Nobody's ever believed him about it. He's been traumatized ever since. 

"You really better have a good explanation for this, _sir."_

Percival summons a tissue and passes it over to her. "Here, Tina."  


"Thank you," Tina mutters, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "A _really_ good explanation."

"I know how young Credence is," Percival sighs, folding his hands on his desk. "It was a huge deterrent for me, at first. It still is, really. So is the fact that he's living in my home, while I provide for him. I understand why you have concerns. Tina, I promise you, what Credence and I have is entirely consensual. But I have real feelings for him, and I took a chance, and I think he and I could be good for each other. I haven't spent all this time living with him, lying in wait. I just realized how I felt a month ago. I don't know how to reassure you, otherwise, so I hope you'll talk to Credence as well."

"I really didn't want you to be a creep," Tina says, blowing her nose into the tissue. "It just seemed so sudden. I just— we all care for Credence, so much. And you're like a really sad father or very stern brother to me," she mutters, avoiding his eyes. Mercy Lewis. "I guess I didn't think that Credence would see you otherwise. And it felt like Queenie betrayed me, because she was so excited about it and didn't seem to care like I did."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you, Tina," Percival says. "And now you know that Queenie didn't betray you."

"I know, I know," Tina sighs. "I just didn't understand, and she's so gaga in love with—" Tina chokes, staring wide-eyed at Percival. "Uh— that, uh, _wizard,_ guy, that I thought maybe she was just seeing romance everywhere and not thinking."

Percival prefers not to think about definitely-not-a-wizard Jacob Kowalski while not dining at the same table as him, so he ignores this. "Yes, well. Do you have any other concerns, Tina?"

Tina shrugs, a little embarrassed. "We'll still see you two for dinner on Saturday?"

"Yes, of course. As long as you want me there."

Tina nods. 

"Tina— those names you mentioned," Percival says, before she gets up. "Abernathy, Wollenstein, and Smith? Do I need to look into them?"

Tina purses her lips. "Well, no. I mean— that's just regular creep stuff, I guess."

Percival furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Tina shrugs. "Regular guy stuff. It doesn't matter."

"Tina," Percival chides. "You just burst in here ready to hex me because you thought I was coercing Credence _like those other creeps._ You can tell me."

"I mean, it's not even me," Tina blurts out quickly. "It's Queenie, but since she's a Legilimens, she says guys think that stuff all the time, and she shrugs it off, but..." Tina bites her lip. "Stuff you gotta go through when you're a girl. You know. Guys hitting on you because you're the only woman in the office. Saying stuff about— bodies, and patting us on the ass, and talking about how we're not good for anything but eye candy 'cause we can't do a job as well as the guys. Saying rude things to the older women but saying gross things to the girls half their age. Sometimes even the Ilvermorny interns."

The Ilvermorny interns are seventeen years old, some even _sixteen._ They're practically toddlers. Percival narrows his eyes. "Consider it handled, Tina."

* * *

Because he is Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, a respectful man of forty-two years, he does not burst into Seraphina's office, like Tina would. Instead, he sits impatiently in the lobby outside of it, wishing he could pull off impertinence like he could as a young man. Instead, now he's got to pretend to be somewhat dignified.

"Madam President," Percival nods, when Seraphina finally calls him in. He's pretty sure she kept him waiting just to annoy him.

"Mr Graves," Seraphina acknowledges.

"Sera," Percival begins. "I'd like to keep an eye on Abernathy, Wollenstein, and Smith."

Seraphina raises an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

"Someone raised a concern to me that the three are being inappropriate with many witches, including our Ilvermorny interns," Percival says seriously.

"That's a very serious accusation, Graves," Seraphina sighs. "Your source is credible?"

"Yes, very," Percival nods. "However... they raised concerns that it's very typical. And yet no one has yet come forward."

Seraphina hums. "Imagine," she drawls. "Young women not coming forward about workplace harassment when they've barely got their foot in the door."

"This is... common, then," Percival says uncomfortably.

Seraphina nods. "Graves, not a day goes by for me in the office when some man doesn't decide to comment on something about me, even to my face," she sighs. "About my race, my age, my body, my language, my ancestors, anything that tickles their fancy."

Percival frowns. "I remember people saying shit to you back in school, but still—"

"It never goes away, Graves," Seraphina says. "Men are a never-ending plague. Most of us girls just put up with it."

"You shouldn't have to," Percival says stupidly, like a man.

"Why, thank you, Graves," Seraphina drawls. "I truly appreciate the sentiment, just as I did in school. Keep an eye on the three. Our laws are antiquated enough to probably let them get away with too much, unfortunately, but men tend to back off when a bigger asshole puts them in their place. Ride their asses until we can fire them."

"Yes, Madam President."

* * *

When Percival arrives home after his meeting with Seraphina, Credence greets him at the door with a frown.

"What's wrong, Mr Graves?" Credence asks immediately, before Percival can ask him the same.

Percival raises an eyebrow, smirking. "I thought you were calling me something else, now," he teases, roaming his eyes over Credence, making sure he looks well, other than the frown.

Credence huffs. "What's wrong, Percival?" Credence is so precious when he's irritated with Percival. He likes that Credence feels comfortable enough around him to show it.

Percival drops the smirk and sighs. "Work. Different than usual." He pulls off his scarf and coat, Credence taking them from him so he can hang them up. "Actually, I wanted to speak with you."

"Oh," says Credence, frowning again. "Of course. Dinner is ready. Do you want to..." Credence lets the sentence hang.

"It smells delicious, Credence," Percival assures him. "We can talk over dinner."

Once they're settled at the table with steaming plates of food in front of them, Percival speaks. "Credence, I want to make sure that you know you can say no to me."

Credence's brow furrows. "Yes? I say no to you all the time. Remember when you asked me to add more sugar to your coffee, and I said—"

"Ah, I meant, in terms of our— relationship. You know that you didn't have to say yes to me— courting you, right?"

"Which would be why you _asked_ me, and I said _yes,"_ Credence says slowly, as if talking to a particularly foolish person. 

"Perhaps I'm not explaining this well," Percival says. "Tina came to me today. She was concerned about our relationship, because you're so much younger than me, and you're living here with me, and—"

"Oh," Credence nods. "You're worried about taking advantage of me."

"Yes, precisely."

"I'm not," Credence shrugs. "If you were, I'd imagine you'd— be like him. And you're not. You've never been."

Could it really be that simple? "Well, I am quite a bit older—"

"Twenty years, I know. It, um. Doesn't really bother me." Credence blushes. "It's— some might think I feel dumb, around you, but you never make me feel that way. You make me feel safe. And I like that we live together. It means we don't have to be apart as long as some people might."

Percival likes that, too. But. "I'm not a good man, Credence. I'm selfish, and—"

"I wish you wouldn't say that," Credence interrupts sharply. He's never taken this kind of tone with Percival before. Percival feels a little dumbfounded. "I think you're wonderful. I think you're a good, and _kind_ man. And I think if Miss Tina or Madam Picquery heard you say that you aren't, they'd— they'd _hex your eyebrows off."_

Percival gapes. Credence suddenly seems to notice how loud he's gotten, and shrinks down into his seat. "I'm— well, I'm not sorry. For saying that. But I am sorry for raising my voice."

"That's all right, darling," Percival says, a little dumbly. "I suppose I just— don't know how you think so positive of me."

"You always say all these good things about me," Credence sighs, shaking his head. "But you don't ever say them about yourself. I think you're good, and kind, and caring, and respectful, and— I don't know how you don't see that about yourself."

Percival is pretty sure there isn't anyone in the world that would ever say such nice things about him, except for Credence. Cruel, a tyrant, a bastard, and only respectful enough to get his way— that's surely how co-workers and his exes would describe him. He's never had a reason to be anything else, until Credence.

As though he had somehow picked up Legilimency by osmosis through Queenie, Credence seems to read his mind. "I know what cruelty looks like, Percival," Credence says quietly, reaching out to lay his hand over Percival's. "I know how bad men treat people. I know how they treat people like me. You're not a bad man. You're nothing close. You're _good._ I— I promise."

Percival's throat feels tight. He turns his hand under Credence's, threads their fingers together. Squeezes. He clears his throat. He isn't quite sure what to say, other than— "Oh. Well. You know, Credence— I should've kissed you when you welcomed me home. Will you let me rectify that, now?"

Credence blinks his dark, catlike eyes at him. He smiles, just a little upturned corner of his mouth. "Welcome home, Mr Graves," he says, a little droll.

And as Percival leans in, he whispers against Credence's lips, "Thank you, sweetheart."

* * *

If wizards were inclined to believe in any sort of God, Percival would certainly agree that Sundays are God's day. On Sundays, Percival and Credence share a cozy breakfast, and then spend the day inside, reading and napping. Now that they're together, Percival delights Credence by transfiguring himself into his panther animagus form, and lays himself overtop of Credence while the young man reads and strokes his furry ears.

(Percival might even purr. Credence politely doesn't mention it.)

Sometimes instead, they'll play wizard's chess. Sometimes, Percival will watch, entranced, as Credence shyly waves his hands and perform the latest magic he's learned. Feels his heartstrings tug, as Credence blushes and produces sparks, produces a new fire in the hearth, produces a silvery panther that pounces around Percival in the air.

He wants to call Credence any sort of pet name, just to see the young man blush. He wants to see their Patronuses dance around together without a thought to chasing away darkness. He wants to tuck Credence's arm in his for the entire length of the walks they take in Central Park. He wants everything, with Credence.

Sundays feel like marriage. Percival thinks he'd like to spend the rest of his life like this, if he could.

It's only a month into dating in December that Percival watches as Credence waves his hands over a vase and cast _orchideous_. Stupid, smitten man that he is, Percival can't stop staring at Credence's left hand, the bare fourth finger, and is suddenly struck by the thought of putting something on it. Struck by longing, as though he hadn't spent forty years of his life avoiding any sort of personal commitment, avoiding exactly what he wants so ardently with Credence.

Percival doesn't think he's ever felt anything as enormous and all-encompassing as the feelings he has for Credence. Percival shakes the tiniest bit when he and Credence make love for the first time; he can hardly believe that the young man wants him as fiercely as Percival wants him. That Credence trusts him, that he'd give Percival such an intimate part of himself, after all they've been through. That Percival loves him, and somehow, Credence loves him back.

By the time that February rolls around, Percival and Credence have been living together for eight months, and dating for three, and Percival decides to actually do something, as his foolishness turns out to have no bounds. 

He sends a pigeon to his mother, whom he hasn't spoken to in five months, and requests access to the family vault that Percival hasn't even thought of since getting into auror training.

Obstinate, irritating, and furious at the way he spoke to her in their last firecall, his mother declines his request and demands he join her and his father for an afternoon luncheon. With the resignation of a man to the guillotine, Percival accepts.

* * *

"You're forty-three, Percival Gondulphus Graves," Vivienne Graves snaps the instant Percival shows up at the Graves family estate. He's still forty-two, his birthday hasn't passed yet, but his mother has never remembered his birthday other than to throw an extravagant party the week of and invite every influential witch and wizard in MACUSA, rather than anything a young boy would like. "It's high time you got married."

"Hello, mother," Percival sighs. "Can we at least sit down before you tear into me?" Not even a how-do-you-do-after-getting-tortured. Typical. (Not that he would know what to do if she ever showed any sort of emotion towards him other than frustration and apathy. They'd probably both promptly die of shame.)

His mother squawks the entire walk from the foyer to the parlor. The manor is just as cold and unfeeling as it was when he lived there as a child. Worse, even, because now it's really just two people in a house much too big for them.

"Mother," Percival interrupts, fed up. This nonsense is why he never comes home, let alone communicates with his parents. "I am, in fact, planning on getting married."

His mother stops dead. _"What?"_ she spits. "To _whom?_ It's not that Picquery girl, and I'd know if you were courting; it'd be all over the _Ghost —" _If Percival had a sprink for every time someone suggested he and Seraphina get married, he'd have an insanely expensive wedding with her and then a terrifically expensive divorce the same day, just to shut them all up.

"Courting is slightly old-fashioned, mother," Percival says. Not that he didn't have his best intentions to try. Credence just looks at him, though, with those pretty dark eyes and curls of hair, and all of Percival's inhibitions go flying out the window. "Look, I know you wanted lunch—"

"Percival." Circe's _tits._ His father appears, smoking a pipe. Percival had hoped to avoid him by showing up early. "What a surprise, after you broke your mother's heart the last time you spoke. It seemed to me that you almost wanted to be written out of the will, then."

Percival bites back the retort that he'd be quite fine with that, actually, and that he's not entirely sure his mother ever had a heart to break. "I have no interest in the family inheritance, father. I only asked for access—"

"He thinks he's getting _married_ , Ragnor," his mother snaps.

His father barks out a laugh. "Married? _Our_ son? Vivienne, I never knew you to joke."

Percival curses his fool eighteen-year-old self all over again. One thing, _one_ goblin-damned thing he leaves behind with his parents, and it turns out to be the one thing that he wants that he can't easily replace.

"Aunt Gertrude left a ring in her will for me," Percival interrupts. "That's all I want."

"Your Aunt Gertrude's ring?" his mother laughs coldly. "To some nobody? I _hardly_ think—"

"It doesn't matter what you think," Percival says, just as cold. "She willed it specifically to me."

Poor, sweet, Aunt Gertrude, who smiled at a young Percy waving a branch as he pretended to be Sir Percival of the Knights of the Round Table, and whispered to him if he wanted to hear a secret. Poor, stupid, young Percy, who only cared about defeating an imaginary dragon while his wizened Aunt Gertie told him that she'd leave him her most precious possession to Percy, her sapphire and diamond engagement ring. Poor, stupid, slightly older Percy, who scoffed at the idea of getting married while he went off to auror training, and moved out of the family estate with everything he thought he'd ever need in the next chapter of his life, and left behind the rest.

He idly thought of getting a recreation made, but it was the principle of the matter. Aunt Gertrude was the only person in the whole Graves family that wasn't cold and uncaring. The only person that treated Percival like a person, rather than a nuisance to be ordered around. The only person that would likely ever approve of Credence and Percival marrying.

"I'm marrying a twenty-two-year-old former obscurial, who may be related to the Scourer Bartholemew Barebone," Percival interrupts dryly. Who knows, based on his ease with cleaning charms, maybe Credence really _is_ related to a Scourer. He hasn't looked too far back into Credence's family tree, yet. "He's the love of my life. I hope you both approve."

Both of his parents are deathly silent. Percival hasn't felt this kind of delight in front of them for years.

"Why are you doing this to us, Percival," his mother says tightly, after a pregnant pause. "Surely this must be some horrid joke. Did we not raise you properly—"

"You didn't really raise me at all," Percival says, fed up. "Aunt Gertrude did. She's the reason why I'm here; I want to honor the last thing she ever did for me."

* * *

"Percival? Are you okay?" Credence asks softly as soon as Percival apparates home. Credence is observant like that; can take one look at what anyone else would call annoyance on Percival and interpret it correctly. Percival grunts non-committally and gathers Credence in a fierce hug, burying his face in Credence's throat.

"Percival?" Credence tries again.

"Credence, I love you," Percival says firmly.

"Oh," Credence sighs, resting his arms along Percival's back, curling into Percival's hold. "I love you, too."

"You're my best friend, Credence, darling," Percival continues, a little muffled in the soft collar of Credence's sweater. "I'm so grateful to have you in my life; to be able to come home to you every day. You make me feel—" He pauses here, feeling a little stupid. "You make me feel warm," he finishes softly.

"I think—" Credence begins cautiously, "I think— we were both a little cold, before. Before we met each other."

For a brief moment, Percival considers dropping to one knee, and taking out the little box hidden in his vest pocket. He quickly shakes it off though. Not only would it be too early and scare Credence off, but Percival wants it to be perfect. Not on the heels of the huge argument with his parents. Just for the two of them, planned, _special,_ the way Credence deserves.

"Yes," Percival sighs. "Yes, I think we were. I'm glad we have each other, now."

"Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had that aunt gertrude's ring scene planned for months before i started this fic. idk i love the drama of percy's family not approving of credence and him being like?? the fuck excuse u? my perfect boy is perfect?
> 
> i considered making the age difference between credence and percival the same as ezra and colin, which is 16ish years. then i decided to make it worse at 20, bc that's fanfic babey!! 
> 
> anyway, i definitely wanted tina to confront graves about the age difference between them, bc canonically i think tina is supposed to be 26ish? (tbh a little younger than i think she should be, but w/e) and i think she'd be uncomfortable with her superior that she clearly admires dating someone even younger than her. i feel like i see too many fics where everyone is super comfortable with gradence, when their age difference is clearly problematic. (and then i was too lazy to make a real argument.)
> 
> also tina?? what a badass? dueling grindelcuck all by herself and did fuckin amazing? 
> 
> (also, according to the wiki and crimes of grindelcuck, credence is supposed to be born in 1901 and age 26 in the first movie like tina???? yea no thanks ok. jk rowling really cucked everything up.)


	6. coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee-cof-feel-eon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Friday, the future Mr Graves spends time at MACUSA with a friend, before soaking in the presence of his Mr Graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are discussions of religion in this chapter. credence deals with his own experiences, and queenie and tina are lapsed jewish. i hope i haven't stepped inappropriately on any toes. i was personally raised catholic (and have since decided i'm more or less agnostic), so i don't want to offend anyone.
> 
> \--
> 
> chapter title is from bender in futurama singing coma-coma-coma-coma-coma-co-meleon to the tune of karma chameleon.
> 
> \--
> 
> all right y'all, i am starting to write this chapter on tuesday, june 2nd, 2020 at 1:53 am. prayer circle that i don't take another month to write this chapter lmao god.  
> as of sunday, june 7th at 10:08 pm i have the basic outline which i'm filling in. all the scenes are there i just actually gotta... write them in full.  
> as of monday, june 8th at 10:13 pm everything is basically written waiting to be edited except for one scene. at 11:47, everything is basically done. i'm hoping to have it posted by wednesday?

How Credence Barebone comes to find that he and Percival Graves are intensely codependent after nearly a couple months of living together is this:

  * The week that Percival Graves manages to get back to work, neither he nor Credence are particularly excited to be separated for any length of time, given that they've spent the last two months in each other's pockets. (They've spent every waking moment together, and somehow have not managed to get on each other's nerves.)
  * Percival Graves goes back to work on a Monday; as such, he encourages Credence to try the market by himself that day, which goes well for three hours. Then Credence spends the rest of the day cleaning, scrubbing his hands raw doing it the no-maj way. (When Mr Graves comes home, earlier than expected, he tuts at the mess Credence has made of his hands and personally rubs a fancy potion into them. Credence tries not to die of heart palpitations.)
  * Percival Graves has acquired Professor Dhruvesh Dittany and Madam Beatrice Harker as instructors, so Credence learns magic on Tuesday and Wednesday for the first time, and finds himself adequately occupied without Mr Graves until the lessons are over. Then, he impatiently waits for his Mr Graves to come home. (Credence becomes so anxious to see him that he waits in the foyer, just to watch Mr Graves apparate inside. Mr Graves looks similarly relieved to see him.)
  * Newt Scamander visits on Thursday, whereupon he pulls Credence into his magical menagerie of a suitcase, and appoints Credence as both assistant and student. Newt calls it _Herbology_ and _Care of Magical Creatures._ Percival Graves calls it _Herbology_ and _Not My Business._ (At the end of the day on Thursday, Credence is so exhausted that he feels like he could just collapse into Mr Graves the second that the older man apparates home. Fortunately for his anxious mind, Mr Graves appears nearly the same.)



Credence finds himself correct; Percival (Mr Graves, at the time) is just as bereft without Credence constantly at his side. Flatteringly, it is Mr Graves who breaks first.

"How would you feel about coming into the office tomorrow, Credence?" Mr Graves asks over dinner Thursday night. "It might be terribly dull for you, but you can get a little more exposure to the wizarding world and we can spend some time together again. If you'd like."

Credence nearly jumps with enthusiasm. "Yes!" Then he attempts to calm himself down. "Yes, I would." Seeing Mr Graves for only half an hour in the morning and then three hours after work has left Credence sorely missing spending time with him. To Hell with more exposure to the wizarding world, Credence gets to spend more time with _Mr Graves._

Mr Graves seems to relax his shoulders at that. So on Friday morning, he side-alongs Credence and they disapparate to the Woolworth building. On the way to Mr Graves' office, Credence learns what a house elf and goblin look like. _Wrinkly,_ is his first thought. _Shockingly ornery,_ is his second.

After only fifteen minutes of curious inspection of Mr Graves' office, which is seemingly quite ordinary, Mr Graves is called away (grumbling) to a Very Important Meeting. He transfigures a rickety chair into a cushiony lounge for Credence, and tells him to make himself at home. Credence then spends ten quiet minutes trying to read, while still wanting to inspect each and every thing in the room, when a knock sounds at the door.

This is how Credence begins to spend Friday mornings delivering coffee and tea and donuts alongside Queenie Goldstein at MACUSA. She somehow convinces Mr Graves that cheerfully (Queenie) and quietly (Credence) handing out a breakfast of champions would be good for Credence's social exposure. Credence then comes to find that he has a natural talent for picking up gossip, because:

  * MACUSA leaks like a sieve. Queenie swears that she learns more in five minutes at MACUSA than she ever learned during her month-long internship at _The New York Ghost_ during her Ilvermorny days.
  * No matter how long he spends in the wizarding world, Credence is sure that he will never get used to it. He is therefore similar to a sponge, soaking up any information possible, be it dull or funny or (accidentally) highly classified.
  * Credence was raised religious.



* * *

The first day that Credence follows Queenie around, the initial department they deliver to is the wand permit office, where something even weirder than a goblin or house elf resides: Abernathy, whom Credence has heard Mr Graves, Tina, and Queenie all complain about during Saturday dinners. (Mr Graves, though, tends to have to be reminded who the man even is in the first place.) Abernathy looks Credence up and down once before summarily dismissing him, as so many men who think they're important tend to do. Then, he attempts to both charm and berate Queenie, who puts up with the man's nonsense for the three minutes it takes to deposit coffee, tea, and donuts, and then begins to curse him out the second the door shuts behind them.

"Gold- _schtein,_ Gold- _schtein_ , Gold- _schtein,"_ Queenie mutters as they leave the wand permit office. "Oooh, that Abernathy, I'll jinx that john so bad—"

"Is that not the proper pronunciation of your last name?" Credence asks quietly. Ma never let him spend time around Jewish people. Or anyone that _might_ be. They didn't follow the Bible properly, according to her. Among other things she said, that Credence found quickly to be incorrect.

"Oh it is," Queenie rolls her eyes. "But that _schmuck_ only does it because he thinks he's bein' smart, when he's actually just puttin' the emphasis to remind people that me and Tina are different. We don't even attend temple no more!"

"You went to church?" Credence asks in surprise. So far, during his two months of living in the wizarding world, he hasn't found any witch or wizard mention God, or church. He's not entirely sure he wants to know, because it might mean he has to go back. That he can't be _good,_ without it. That he can't just be himself.

"Oh, we used to go to temple when we lived with our auntie," Queenie says. "But we was always pretty bad at that. Went for all the holidays, of course, but life kinda gets in the way. I still make all our Bubbe's recipes, though. That's the real important thing for me and Teenie, sharing food with our people, the way we do on Saturdays. That's the Sabbath for us anyway, you know! Good enough for a couple'a New York girls, I think. You still thinkin' 'bout going, sweetie?"

Credence shrugs, staring down at the floor as they continue their walk. "It's been a while. I think I'm just still... adjusting to not being there all the time."

"You miss the familiarity," Queenie nods. "Hmm. I think, for me, what I'm up to is between me and God, you know? If I gotta be in a temple for Him to know, then He ain't really All-Knowing, is he?"

"I— I guess?"

"You'd never believe it, honey, but when we was kids, I was even more devoted than you! I used to cry when Teenie forgot to do her evening prayers!" Queenie sighs. "It was a nice routine, for a while."

"I don't think I ever really believed," Credence whispers. "I think I was only ever devoted because I _had_ to be." Even just admitting that feels blasphemous. Queenie stops pushing her cart, and pulls Credence into a hug.

"It was used like a weapon on you," Queenie says sadly, holding him tightly. "That's no way for God, sweetie. If you wanna be devoted, it's gotta be your choice." She pulls back, and Credence gives her a tentative smile.

"C'mon, honey," Queenie grins, pinching his cheek. "Let's go jinx the john, huh?"

* * *

The following Monday, Credence takes a detour out of the magical market, into a used bookshop of no-maj New York. He picks up a worn tome, and then spends the day reading at home, rather than cleaning.

"What are you reading, Credence?" Mr Graves asks, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"Oh," Credence says, startled. He didn't realize it was so late already, that Mr Graves was home from work. He didn't make lunch. He hasn't even started dinner. "You're home."

"Indeed I am," Mr Graves says, a little wry. He points his chin at the book in Credence's hands.

Oh, right. "It's— the Bible?"

"That's a no-maj religious book, correct?"

Suddenly, Credence wonders if he's allowed to have such an object in Mr Graves' home. It feels ironic, the idea that the Bible isn't allowed in his home, when it was the single book allowed in Mary Lou's. "I'm— I'm sorry, I should have asked, I can get rid of it if—"

"No, no, Credence, of course not," Mr Graves says, waving off his concerns. "I'm just curious. I've never had much exposure to no-maj religion. It's a book of myths?"

"Ah—" Credence chokes. Mary Lou would have burst into flames to hear the Bible described as such. "No. Yes— no. Well, blasphemers would say that."

"Oh," says Mr Graves, sitting on the couch beside Credence. Their knees nearly touch. "Are we being blasphemers, then, or are we calling them something else other than myths?"

Credence frowns. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I never— I only ever remember being with Ma. Mary Lou. And she raised us to respect and obey and fear God. But I don't— I don't think I ever respected Him. And if I did believe, once— it was only fear. And I think it was really mostly the fear of _her." And the belt,_ Credence thinks grimly. _  
_

"Most wizards don't believe in God, anyway, Credence," Mr Graves says carefully. "I think that if you decide you don't believe, it's not going to send you to Hell."

"The thing is— there's supposed to be _good,_ in the Bible," Credence says, looking down at the book in question. "I just don't remember it. There's a man— the Son of God. God sends His only Son to earth to save us all. And He heals the sick, and the wounded, and He feeds and clothes the poor. He's _good._ I want to read those stories and understand why it's important.

"I know— I know the Ten Commandments, and I know the Seven Deadly Sins, and I know the punishments that people received— I could probably recite the entirety of Leviticus— I know what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah— but I don't know the stories where people were kind. I don't want to fear things any more. I don't want to fear a _book._ Not if— if they're truly just old myths."

Mr Graves nods solemnly. He always takes what Credence says so seriously. "Would you mind if I read it with you? Maybe we can figure it out together."

Oh. "That would be nice."

* * *

Credence and Mr Graves finish the Bible, and Credence sets it carefully on the bookshelf in his room.

It's a nice book of stories. Sundays are for him and Mr Graves.

* * *

The Friday following Credence and Percival's first date in November, Queenie is bursting with so much enthusiasm when she meets them in the lobby of the Woolworth building that for a second, Credence can follow her train of thought so easily that he fears that he's become the Legilimens of the two of them. She nearly squeals with excitement when Percival bids them both a good shift, stroking his knuckles against Credence's flushed cheek in a goodbye, before he sweeps down the hall in a dramatic fashion, coat billowing. What a man. Credence tries not to stare too longingly after him.

Then Queenie drags him by the hand into the kitchen, where her rolling cart is wandlessly filling itself with all its accoutrements, and _does_ actually squeal.

"Tell me everythin', honey!"

"Queenie!" Credence hisses, looking around, even though there's no one else in the room and the door is shut.

"How was your date? Oh, _that_ good? Did he— oh, he _did,_ and it was! Oh, I _knew_ a man like him would kiss like—"

"Queenie!" Credence hisses again, this time in exasperation. "Remember, you need to _ask—"_

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm sorry, it's just so _excitin'!_ Oh, your Mr Graves is so _romantic,_ ain't he? You wouldn't know it by lookin' at him; he looks so _stern,_ don't he? But he's really a big squishy—"

"Queenie!" Credence pleads desperately.

"I'm sorry, sorry!" Queenie takes a big breath, still beaming at him, giving them both a second. She's still grabbing his hands in excitement. "Okay. Okay, Mr Credence Barebone, how was your _big romantic date_ with your Mr Graves on Monday?"

Naturally, by the end of the workday, the whole of MACUSA knows about it.

* * *

"I heard Mr Graves transfigured a broom into a dragon and took you on a moonlit flight across the country," Tina says flatly when Queenie and Credence join her for lunch at her desk. She takes a huge bite out of her hot dog, squirting ketchup and mustard everywhere. Queenie waves her wand at Tina without a second thought, cleaning up after her sister. "And then he seduced you on the beaches of Santa Monica while merpeople watched."

Credence buries his burning face in his hands.

On Wednesday, Tina had invited herself over for lunch, in order to talk to Credence about her concerns over his and Mr Graves' relationship. Credence, who has always thought fondly of Queenie and Tina as good friends, instantly moved his regard for Tina firmly into what he is certain an overbearing sister is like. She's slightly more casual about it now, but he feels like she's still inspecting every inch of him to make sure there aren't any unsavory bruises.

> _"Credence, when I saw that woman hurt you— and when those aurors— when they— Oh, Credence, you've_ got _to know how_ important _you are, to me and Queenie. You're practically Queenie's best friend. We love you,_ so _much, and we don't ever want to see you get hurt again. It_ broke _my_ heart _to see you get— So I'm sorry if it seems like— like I'm not respecting your choices or I'm trying to make them for you. I just want you to be safe. Mr Graves explained himself to me, but I just want to hear it from you."_
> 
> _"Thank you, Tina," Credence says softly. "I don't think you know— how grateful I am for not just Percival, but for you and Queenie and Newt and Jacob. I've never had anyone— I've never had a family. Thank you for— for giving me that. And thank you for caring."_
> 
> _Tina nods quickly, smile shaky with tears starting in her eyes. "It was always just me and Queenie for the longest time. You brought us all together. So— thank you for giving us a family, too."_
> 
> _"Even Mr Graves, as your really sad father or very stern brother?" Credence teases._
> 
> _ "He told you that?" Tina laughs, wiping under her eyes. "Yes, even him. I think it's the eyebrows. They're just so paternal." _
> 
> _"They're_ strong," _Credence insists. "Distinguished. Caring."_
> 
> _ Tina laughs again, then sighs, resting her chin in her hand as she peers at Credence. "Oh, you really like him, huh?" _
> 
> _ "Would it be stupid to say— that it was maybe— love at first sight?" Credence blushes, looking down at the table and twisting his fingers in his lap. _
> 
> _ "No," Tina says softly. "No. Love... love isn't stupid at all, Credence." _
> 
> _ "He's a good man," Credence says. He thinks that's what he loves most of all, about Percival. _
> 
> _ "He is," Tina acknowledges. "I don't want him or anyone else taking advantage of you, Credence. That's why I was so worried. As long as you're making your own choices." _
> 
> _ "I am," Credence assures her. "Between you and Percival and everyone else, I can't imagine anyone being able to hurt me again." _
> 
> _"I will_ always _be here for you, Credence," Tina promises, pulling him into a hug. "Sorry for being so— nosey and overbearing. Cons of being an older sister. Ask Queenie."_

Queenie pats him on the back.

"It's okay, sweetie, I'm sure some of the rumors are saying that you's the one who seduced Mr Graves on the beach instead!"

Queenie, on the other hand, is the best friend _encouraging_ him to get some unsavory bruises.

"Oh, do you think he _bites?"_

"Queenie!" Credence and Tina shout together in misery.

* * *

"I heard that Madam Picquery married them herself at the Graves estate!"

"Don't be stupid, Graves hasn't been to the estate in five years—"

"— ten years—"

"Well, I heard that that Barebone boy has a twelve-inch—"

"No, no, it's Graves that has a fourteen-inch—"

"It's only been four dates, Mabel, you still have a chance with Credence—"

"I think I'm in love with both of them now!"

"Well— well, I suppose that works out for you, then?"

"— it was a dragon, a Hungarian Horntail—"

"— a Welsh Green—"

"— no, a Swedish—"

"— a broomstick can't be—"

"— it's _Graves,_ yes it _can—"_

"Graves isn't the damn—"

"— in front of _what—"_

"Merpeople!"

"Puffskeins!"

"Hippogriffs!"

"— a bouquet of bubotubers!"

By the time that Credence slinks into Percival's office, he's heard approximately seventy-five different versions of their date on Monday. None of them are remotely close to what Credence had whispered to Queenie in the kitchen, but that was how rumors worked.

Percival merely quirks the corner of his mouth up at Credence, as Credence slides into the chair across from him. "Well, hello, husband." Credence's heart gives a little jolt at that. It feels like the first time Percival ever called him _darling._ "I was thinking Ogden's, as a gift to Sera, for performing our marriage on the back of a Thunderbird while the three of us chased after a very dark wizard."

Credence thunks his arms onto Percival's desk and buries his head in them. "Don't be silly, Mr Graves," Credence says, muffled. "Don't you know we've secretly been married for years, when I was just a child-bride of fifteen? And that your Madam Picquery has been scheming to steal me away from you to have very powerful children with me? You can't just give firewhiskey to someone threatening our marriage."

"Oh, I see," Percival nods sagely. "Absinthe, then."

Credence groans unintelligibly in agreement.

* * *

In March, after nine months of living together, and four months of dating, the rumors about Credence and Percival have mostly died down. One day, however, Queenie looks so lost in her own mind, that Credence worries that somehow a completely bombastic rumor about them has sprung up.

"Are you all right, Queenie?" Credence asks warily.

Queenie sighs. "Well. I've been thinkin'." Then she stops. _Queenie._ Stops _talking._

Queenie doesn't ever _stop_ thinking. She also never stops _talking,_ and yet something has got a hold on her.

"Thinking about what?" Credence prods, when she doesn't continue.

Queenie bites her lip. "Well."

Credence blinks. "Is something wrong? Are you _sick?"_

"No, no," Queenie says quickly. Glancing around the kitchen, she shuts the door with a wave of her wand and casts a silencing spell.

"I'm thinkin' about quittin' and goin' to work with Jacob at his bakery!" she blurts.

"Oh. Well— that's wonderful, right?" Certainly not anything Credence needed to fret about.

Queenie sighs. "Well. I'm just worried about Teenie. I only ever got this job so we could be together at work." Credence knows the feeling. "And I keep thinkin' back to when that awful man sentenced Teenie and Newt to death and what would'a happened if I wasn't here. So I dunno— I _really_ wanna be with Jacob, Credence. And I wanna be with Teenie. And I want her safe and I don't wanna worry about what's happening here but I also— I don't wanna be the coffee girl all my life. Tina's the career girl, don't get me wrong, but— I wanna be with the guy I love. And I wanna bake with him." Queenie sniffles. "I'm real good at bakin', you know," she says sadly.

"You are," Credence assures her immediately, despite how unmoored he feels in this situation. He pulls out his (unnecessarily embroidered by Percival's tailor) handkerchief, and passes it to Queenie. She dabs delicately at her eyes, not wanting to ruin her makeup, then blows her nose like an erumpent.

"I'm scared, too," she says, using her wand to clean away the mess she made. "What if it doesn't work out? What if— what if Jacob doesn't like working with me? And then he won't love me anymore."

"Oh, Queenie, no," Credence assures her, panicking now. "That wouldn't happen; he loves you so much. What if— what if I went with you? And we can learn together? Maybe on Friday mornings, and that would help Jacob, right, if we used magic?"

"You'd really do that?" Queenie says, eyes sparkling with tears. "You're a real good pal, Credence. We's all real lucky to have you."

* * *

Credence practically jumps Percival once they've apparated home Friday night.

Friday mornings Credence spends with Queenie, before retiring to Percival's office while Percival mostly does paperwork. Sometimes, though, he gets to watch Percival interact with other people. There's just something about watching Percival wield his authority in full, commanding the room with just a look, no need to even raise his voice to make people pay attention to him. It's just so _attractive._

"What's gotten into you?" Percival laughs, falling back against the door with armfuls of Credence.

 _"Ireallywanttogodownonyou,"_ Credence mutters, carefully working a bruise underneath Percival's ear.

"Well, if you _insist,"_ Percival teases, eyes sparkling, hoisting Credence fully into his arms. Then he apparates them straight into their bedroom.

The first time Credence had done this, neither one of them could stop the blushes painting their faces. And Credence, who wasn't even entirely sure what to expect, let alone actually _enjoy_ it, other than the fact that it was with his Percival— Credence had come to find out that he rather liked performing fellatio, and that he was even rather _good_ at it.

He's got a plan to butter Percival up, considering the bombshell he wants to drop afterwards.

Credence is still working on being... sexy. Luckily, Percival doesn't seem to think he's all that bad at it, but twenty-two years of being disregarded as a person will damage one's self-esteem. The confidence in bed that Credence is attempting to exude is apparently working for him, though.

"You are fucking _stunning,_ darling," Percival says, when Credence has shoved him onto the bed, and he's got his fingers threaded through Credence's hair.

"Really?" Credence asks, a little unsure, even after four months. Sometimes he just likes to hear all the praise Percival showers him with.

"I've never seen anyone as gorgeous as you," Percival assures him, cradling Credence's face in his hands, thumbing across Credence's lips. "I'm so lucky to have you."

Credence uses magic to banish their clothes. Neither he nor Percival are concerned about them once they get their hands on each other.

When they're both sated and curled up together, Credence half-laying on top of Percival while the older man twirls Credence's hair between his fingers, Credence decides to tell him about the bakery.

"Percival?"

"Yes, Credence, darling?"

"What would you think of— of Queenie quitting, and if she and I went to work with Jacob?" Credence asks, curling Percival's chest hair around his finger. Then he assures Percival, "just on Friday mornings. For me. But I don't really do anything other than walk around with Queenie anyway, and Jacob would pay me—"

"Oh," Percival says, peering down at him curiously. "You've given this a bit of thought, haven't you?"

Credence shrugs. "I just wanted— to know what you think."

"You know you can do anything you want, sweetheart," Percival says, turning Credence to face him with a finger on his chin. "I suppose you'd be rather bored on Friday mornings anyway, without Queenie to distract you. And Jacob is a— a fine man." That looked like it was painful to get out.

"The highest praise for a no-maj," Credence says solemnly, teasing.

"Yes, well," Percival huffs. "I _am_ still the Director of Magical Security. But you're not breaking any laws working in a bakery, darling. If it makes you happy, I imagine that Queenie and Jacob would love to have you there." He pauses. "Would you— would you still visit me in the afternoon? Don't feel obligated, of—"

"Of course!" Credence exclaims. "I love Friday afternoons in your office." They're both still ridiculously codependent, after all.

"Really?" Percival raises a thick eyebrow.

 _"Yes,"_ Credence huffs. "Although, if I could convince you to go home earlier than five, that would be nice."

"I'll see what I can do," Percival promises. And he seals it with a kiss.

* * *

It comforts Credence that Queenie is just as nervous as him. But Jacob is as warm and welcoming as ever, and Credence and Queenie get to hide in the back and bake. With _magic._ Jacob's assistant, Andrew, makes fast friends with Queenie and tentatively with Credence. He's not sure why, but Andrew's freckled face is always pink when Credence turns towards him.

"He thinks you're cute, sweetie!" Queenie giggles at him while they wait for Percival to join them for lunch.

"Queenie," Credence hisses, blushing. "We just met—"

"What, so he can't think you're cute?"

"I'm—" Credence starts. _Takenengagedmarried_ his stupid brain thinks instinctively, then he chokes. Lord above. Just because Credence thinks of Sundays like marriage—

Queenie giggles at him, and he knows she's read his mind.

"Involved! I'm very _involved_ and happy with Percival." Credence can feel his face burning. "We're not— obviously—"

"Only a matter of time!" Queenie sings cheerfully.

"Well, we can't anyway—"

"Oh, yes wizards can!"

Credence stops dead. "You mean— two wizards?"

"Can two no-maj men not— oh. Yeah, honey, two wizards can definitely get married!"

"In the Bible..." Credence starts. "But— I guess that doesn't really matter for me, any more. That's— that's really nice to know, Queenie. Thank you."

"Just a matter of time, sweetie," Queenie smiles, patting Credence on the shoulder. "You's got a man that's never lettin' you go. And wouldn't you know it, he's a real keeper, too!"

* * *

Credence waits with bated breath as Percival takes the first bite into the pastry, chews thoughtfully, hums, and then a slow smile crosses his face after he swallows.

"That was delicious, Credence!" Credence is nearly shocked with the amount of enthusiasm coming from Percival.

"Really?" Credence blurts out. "I was worried— you like sweet things but you're so _particular_ about them, and I've never baked the normal way, not desserts, anyway, and Queenie and I did these with magic."

Percival licks his lips of chocolate and crumbs, eyeing Credence up and down salaciously. Credence goes bright red. "Well, I'm most definitely particular about a certain sweet thing in front of me."

Credence splutters. "That was— Percival, _Mr Graves—"_

Percival gives a huff of a laugh, crow's-feet coming to form. "Incorrigible? Dastardly? Attractive? I do call you _sweetheart_ for a reason, you know, _Mr Barebone."_

Credence turns his burning face up towards the ceiling, crossing his arms. "Highly inappropriate, _Mr Graves._ How many have you seduced via pastry pick up lines? In your office, no less."

"Well, at the moment, I'm still working on the first."

Credence can't stop the small smile pulling at his lips. "Well, consider it successful."

"How successful?" What a bureaucrat. Credence loves him.

"At the moment, I shall allow you one kiss, Mr Graves."

(Credence allows Percival one kiss. Then one more. And perhaps another— but _not one more_ until they disapparate home. Then Credence loses count.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what u think!!


	7. I am your light, think of me, you're never in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Saturday, the future Mr Graves celebrates his twenty-third birthday with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh another month of no updates? because.......... i've been writing a john wick/365 days crossover. i know i know fuckin kill me.  
> incidentally...... title is from think by kaleida which is in john wick.  
> there's some bad porn to make up for the wait?? rip im so sorry everyone.

How Credence Barebone lost his family (twice) and then gained his permanent one is this:

  * Credence was born, and then somehow ended up at an orphanage. Perhaps some magic happened. Perhaps some didn't. He may have had a mom, and a dad, and maybe even siblings. (It doesn't matter to him much, any more.)
  * "I am _not_ your Ma! Your mother was a _wicked,_ unnatural woman!" A mother, an older sister, and a younger; they were a fractured facsimile of a family, because Ma was cruel like a mother should never be, and Chastity took after her because it was all she ever knew, and Modesty still held out hope that she'd be reunited with her own parents and siblings. Like lightning, quick and deadly, this family was gone, too. (Credence is still working through it.)
  * "Stay with me, Credence. For as long as you want." Then Mr Graves gave him a home, and kindness, and confidence, and, eventually, love. Now Credence has a best friend and a partner.
  * "Oh, Credence, I'm so glad you're okay! I'm sorry I couldn't stop them."
  * "Oh, you're so sweet! Listen, you and Mr Graves are gonna join me and Teenie for dinner on Saturday, okay?"
  * "Would you—would you perhaps like to meet my creatures? They're very quiet, and lovely. I think they'd like you."
  * "Man, I'm glad you're all right, kid! Everyone was real worried about you. Have you ever tried _p ączki? _Seriously, they're outta this world. My Babcia's recipe."
  * Every single one of Credence's new family are _meddlers._ Therefore, they all drag each other to Saturday dinners in the Goldsteins' apartment, no matter how busy one is. You just can't spend time in a groups' company without becoming a family, of a sort.



While they're in the hospital waiting, after breaking out of Grindelwald's trunk, Percival (Mr Graves, at the time) says to Credence, "Stay with me, Credence. For as long as you want."

Credence is tired. Credence has no home, no family. No one to take care of him, and no one for him to take care of. Credence is _alone._ This wild ride of a life had started and now ended with Mr Graves (or, at least, a version of him).

Credence imagines it for a brief second. Him, a poor orphan, now riddled with riches and an older man who felt guilted into providing for him. For a small, wicked moment, something insidious in Credence thinks, _finally._ A home, a rich life, utterly different from Ma's, beside the man that promised him so much more.

Then Mr Graves says, "Credence?"

It drags Credence out of the darkness. The way that this Mr Graves, the _real_ Mr Graves, says Credence's name is so different from the way that imposter said it. Somehow warm, and _safe_ in Mr Graves' voice. Cherished. Like someone who would actually care for him.

"I'd like that very much, Mr Graves," Credence replies softly. He tries for a smile, but he's not entirely sure what manages to make it onto his face, the way that Mr Graves replies.

"You saved me, Credence, my boy," Mr Graves croaks, "you could at least call me Percival."

Throughout the following months, Mr Graves turns into Percival, a man that Credence loves dearly, and falls in love with deeply. For the first time, Credence knows what romance is like, and what having a best friend is like, and what trust is like. The beginnings of a family.

* * *

Tina bursts into the hospital room like she bursts into most rooms, on a mission that no one will stop her from. (This is what Mr Graves tells him, once she leaves.)

"Oh, Credence, I'm so glad you're okay! I'm sorry I couldn't stop them."

It takes a second, but Credence remembers her. Tina Goldstein, who had tried to save Credence from Ma. Tina, who had tried to reach out to the Obscurus, and Credence inside it. Who had nearly saved him, before the witches—Aurors— destroyed him.

She's come to help him again. She brings her sister Queenie Goldstein, who is quite possibly the most beautiful woman Credence has ever seen.

Queenie reads his mind in an instant. "Oh, you're so sweet! Listen, you and Mr Graves are gonna join me and Teenie for dinner on Saturday, okay?"

Even Mr Graves seems a little taken aback at this, but he graciously accepts on behalf of both him and Credence, who is still reeling from having his _mind read_.

Throughout the following months, Tina and Queenie give Credence a home away from home, and friendship, and the kindness of sisters (and the squabbling of sisters). It's completely unlike what he had with Chastity and Modesty, but Credence likes this better. Even with how much they tease him, it's worth it, to have two more friends and be a brother again.

* * *

Newt Scamander meets Credence the next day at the brownstone. He's perhaps the most awkward person Credence has ever met, but he is immeasurably kind. Together with Mr Graves and Tina, Newt manages to remove the Obscurus from Credence. Afterwards, he gestures to the large expanse of wild in his suitcase.

"Would you—would you perhaps like to meet my creatures? They're very quiet, and lovely. I think they'd like you."

When it comes time for Credence to start studying magic, Newt grips Credence by the hand and pulls him once more into his suitcase of fantastical beasts. Newt gives Credence awkward solidarity, and friendship, and an appreciation for creatures even more fierce than the Obscurus and yet less hated. Now Credence has a friend and, for the first time, a brother. (And, incidentally, the most peculiar teacher Credence ever studies under.)

* * *

Jacob shakes Credence's hand enthusiastically, then hands him a powdered donut a week later.

"Man, I'm glad you're all right, kid! Everyone was real worried about you. Have you ever tried _p ączki? _Seriously, they're outta this world. My Babcia's recipe."

Jacob Kowalski is such a larger-than-life personality. It's easy to see how he and Queenie gravitate towards each other. Credence meets him for the first time at dinner at the Goldsteins' apartment, where everyone regales Jacob's involvement in reacquiring Newt's creatures. Jacob brings a liveliness and humor to Credence, a solid friend to lean on. Now Credence has another friend and brother.

The five of them give Credence a _family._

* * *

The first dinner the six of them sit down together for is initially an awkward affair. Credence is still unused to dealing with multiple people at once. Mr Graves is suspended from work, but technically still Tina's boss (and in the grand scheme of MACUSA, Queenie's, too). Newt is his own brand of awkward, and at most times is still stopping the Niffler from escaping his suitcase. (It has its beady eyes set on Mr Graves' scorpion stick-pins.) Jacob Kowalski is a no-maj. (Mr Graves is not entirely happy with this, although he does not outwardly show it. He shakes Jacob's hand, thanks him for assisting Newt and Tina and Queenie, and they politely trade talk about their Great War experiences.)

Credence is curious, however, after Newt, Tina, and Queenie are finished their story. "If Mr Kowalski—"

"Jacob's just fine, kid."

"If—Jacob was Obliviated, how did he get his memories back?"

Tina blushes, Newt avoids his eyes, and Queenie smirks.

"Well, he wasn't exactly Obliviated, honey," Queenie says, making eyes across the table at Jacob. "What's it called again, Newt?"

"Swooping Evil," Newt says, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oh, it was so romantic," Queenie sighs dreamily, chin in her hands. "The rain fell on him, and he forgot about little ol' me, but I planted a big one on him, and ta-da, my honey was back!"

"Planted one?" Credence repeats.

"A big kiss, silly!" Queenie winks at him. "Gots it on good authority it's true love, and all."

* * *

The next week, Credence and Mr Graves find themselves dragged into dinner once again by the Goldstein sisters. Then, when everyone gets wind of the fact that Credence wants to begin learning magic, all hell breaks loose. Never has Credence ever seen such adults squabbling like children.

Newt is an avid proponent of Herbology and what he calls Care of Magical Creatures, a course recently introduced into the Hogwarts curriculum.

Mr Graves wants Defence, but Tina points out that between the two of them, Credence wouldn't have better teachers.

Tina, Queenie, and Newt advocate for Charms, which Mr Graves grimaces at, but agrees with.

Transfiguration is all enthusiastically agreed upon. Astronomy is shrugged at and regarded as outdated and British. Divination is scoffed at and eyes are rolled. History of Magic is argued down to Credence being able to read at his own pace. Tina and Newt frown at Arithmancy, but Queenie lights up about it. Ancient Runes is shrugged off by all but Newt. Alchemy is pondered before agreed to come back to it later, as it involves other disciplines in the first place.

All of them grudgingly agree that Potions is important.

Jacob and Credence sit the entire conversation (argument, really) with gaping mouths.

"You guys really learn all'a this? At a magic school?" Jacob asks.

"Ilvermorny," Tina, Queenie, and Mr Graves all correct him at once.

"And Hogwarts," Newt adds.

"Hog _wash,"_ Queenie says slyly, smiling sweetly.

* * *

On a rainy Saturday in April, Credence awakens at twenty-three years of age, and expects to spend the day with his new family. When he turns over in bed, however, he finds the most important person of this group—Percival—missing. After ten months of living together and five months of dating, Credence can count on a single hand the number of times Percival has woken up before him.

This bodes even worse when he hears whistling coming from the direction of the kitchen. While Percival's not _officially_ banned from the kitchen, Credence has certainly thought about it. At the very least, Percival's not allowed when Credence isn't there.

Oh, well. It's his birthday. As long as there's still whistling and no swearing, Credence can allow himself to lay back down in cozy sheets and fluffy pillows. The whistling in the kitchen continues cheerfully, so Credence finds himself dozing to the soft pitter-patter of rain, curled up with Percival's pillow.

Eventually, Percival wanders back inside their room, waking Credence carefully. "Happy birthday, sweetheart," Percival says, presenting Credence with a floating tray.

The eggs are more solid than Credence likes, but the middle is still runny the way he prefers. The toast is wonderfully perfect, a true amicability between Percival and the toaster, now. The bacon is a little crispier than Credence likes, but it's a decadent cut of pork that means it won't really make a difference. There are three magnificently fluffy pancakes, cooked to perfection, stuck with little magic sparklers shooting off _23_ in multiple colors above them.

Slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes, Credence isn't quite sure what he's looking at. Then, he realizes. "You made me breakfast?" Credence asks softly, a little overwhelmed, both with the amount of food and emotion.

"Of course, I did, darling," Percival says, sitting on the bed at Credence's feet. "I even asked Queenie to help me a few weeks ago so I would be sure not to destroy the house."

"You did?" Credence's throat feels tight. "That's so sweet."

Percival simply smiles, the little crow's-feet Credence loves forming. Credence swallows, taking in the scene of the breakfast, and Percival, and their bed, and he makes a decision that feels as easy as anything.

"I know what I want for my birthday, Percival," Credence says, a little coy. He beckons Percival with a finger, pulling the man closer over the tray by his shirt collar. Credence presses a tiny kiss to Percival's lips.

"You do?"

"Mm-hm. It's my birthday. Make love to me?"

Credence watches as Percival's face goes through approximately seven emotions before settling on what might be shock. And even a little _flushed._

"You know the spell, right?" Credence teases him, high on the feeling of making Percival blush. "To keep the food warm?"

"You—" Percival huffs a laugh. "Credence, you're unbelievable. You're my entire fucking _heart."_

_Oh._ "You're mine, too," Credence says, throat tight again.  


Percival waves a hand at the tray of food, and moves it magically over to the side. He crawls over top of Credence, cradling Credence's face between his hands, staring deeply into Credence's eyes. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want," Credence says, kissing him lightly.

"I want to hear you say it." Percival's voice is so deep, so strong, it makes Credence sigh in anticipation.

"I want you inside of me," Credence whispers.

Percival swallows thickly. "I'm going to make you feel so good, sweetheart."

Of that, Credence has no doubts. "You always do."

Percival lays him down gently, covering Credence's body with his own. They carefully undress each other, until Percival sucks a lurid love-bite under Credence's ear, and suddenly, with a _pop,_ Credence accidentally Vanishes their pyjamas. The only acknowledgement they make of this are the groans they both utter upon the sudden press of skin, that extra scant inch of closeness.

Credence twists his hands into Percival's hair, pulling tight and sucking in sharp breaths as Percival drags his lips all over Credence's body. Down his neck, biting at his collarbones, pulling at his pebbled nipples with careful teeth, all the while Percival's hands bracket Credence's hips, rubbing little circles into them. Holding Credence down, so he can't buck up into Percival, dragging it out.

Credence has always loved Percival's hands; the way the man performs magic with them, but especially the way he performs a certain spell and presses them inside Credence, lighting him up from the inside. They've done this so many times, but Percival's always stopped after, never wanting to push Credence too far. The first press of a finger is always so intimidating, then a rush of euphoria always flows through Credence when Percival slides in all the way. Credence can't _wait_ for Percival to be inside him.

"You're so goddamn gorgeous, Credence. So beautiful, taking me like you were made for me."

Kissing still sets Credence's entire body on fire, but this sends him into an inferno. Credence is pretty sure he could die happily on Percival's fingers. As Percival pushes in a third digit, brushing against that spot inside, Credence gasps, scratching weals down Percival's chest.

"Sorry, sorry," Credence hiccups. Percival just smirks, watching Credence's face intently.

"Feeling good?"

"Always," Credence sighs, pulling Percival down to kiss him. He pets gently over the scratches he left, trying to soothe them. Eventually, it's too much; Credence is too close. He doesn't want to reach release until Percival presses inside with his cock. "Percival—please?"

"Now?"

"Yes," Credence sighs as Percival pulls his fingers out gently. To Credence's surprise, Percival rolls off of him, sits up against the headboard, and pulls Credence into his lap.

"Like this. You're in control, Credence."

It feels like Credence is on display, sitting in Percival's lap with his hands resting on the man's shoulders, and it makes Credence want to blush and die a little. But they've done things close to this before, Credence on top, rocking against each other. 

"Ready?" Percival asks, studying his face. Credence nods, a little breathless, and once Percival grasps himself, Credence begins to slide slowly down Percival's length, eventually sitting flush with the man's hips. Several times, he stops, but the strain on his thighs starts to burn, and he pushes himself a little more, gradually letting his body open for Percival.

"That's it, sweetheart. You okay?" Percival asks, eyes piercing, rubbing little circles onto Credence's hips with his thumbs.

Credence shudders, wrapping long arms around the man's neck. The feeling is unlike any other, the pressure intense, so much _more_ than just Percival's fingers. "Yeah," he sighs, curling in closer to Percival's chest. 

"You're doing so well, baby, that's it, just relax. Breathe." Percival presses kisses to Credence's temple.

"I feel so full," Credence murmurs, mouthing at Percival's collarbone. "Should I—should I move?"

"Take your time," Percival says hoarsely, stroking along Credence's spine. It makes Credence warm, that Percival is just as affected as he is. "Whenever you're ready."

Just this already feels monumental. But Credence tries, starts a small, slow circle with his hips. It makes his length press against Percival's abdomen, and Credence lets out a soft moan, feels Percival's heart thundering against his in his chest.

"Do I feel okay?" Credence asks quietly, continuing his motions, gradually trying bigger circles.

"You're so fucking _perfect,_ Credence," Percival groans. Credence bites his own lip, then leans in to bite Percival's, making them both groan in unison. Biting turns into kissing, into breathing heavily into each other's mouths, as Credence gets the movement easier, begins to slide up and down Percival's cock. Percival grips Credence's thighs tightly.

"More lube?" He asks Credence. Credence nods, and suddenly with a wave of Percival's fingers, the slide becomes even easier, less gritty, though Credence feels much more messy. It's not an entirely unpleasant version of messy, however, and Credence tucks a thought away for later.

"There we go," Percival growls, as their movements start to get faster, a little more desperate. Credence feels the growl deep in his chest, and shudders. "That's it, so _good,_ sweetheart, you feeling good?"

"Yeah," Credence sighs happily, overcome with the intensity. Tears prick at his eyes. Suddenly, he feels close again, like when Percival had his fingers in him. "Wait, wait—" Credence manages to get out, placing a hand over Percival's. "Will you—Percy, I want you on top." The nickname comes out of Credence's mouth, unbidden.

Percival blinks slowly, then smirks. "Anything, kitten." Credence blushes. "Bear down, sweetheart, I'm gonna pull out. Careful." As Percival pulls out, he drags lube and pre with him, and Credence's heart flutters in anticipation of Percival pressing into him again, wet and filthy, this time from above.

Percival lays Credence down carefully, rocking their bodies against each other as he rolls on top of Credence. He strokes Credence's thighs comfortingly, then taps his fingers teasingly against them. "Ready?" He runs a hand over his thick cock, and more lube slicks the length, making Credence's mouth water. He thinks idly that he should have gotten his mouth on Percival at the beginning, but. There's always next time.

The second time Percival presses into him is just as intense, but it goes faster, a little more smooth. Credence lets Percival set the pace, resting his hands on the man's firm biceps. He pulls Percival even closer to him, blanketing Credence.

"I feel so safe when you cover me like this," Credence sighs, tucking his face into the crook of Percival's neck. "Like nothing could ever get to me again."

Percival keeps his strokes firm and even, hand sure on Credence's length, teasing Credence to completion with the pressure on him, inside and out. "I'll always keep you safe, Credence, my love. I won't let anyone or anything hurt you ever again. I promise." 

Credence blinks tears out of his eyes, kissing along Percival's neck as Percival makes love to him. Steady and strong, Credence's reliable love, bringing Credence to a height of pleasure Credence never thought he would ever know. They shake against each other as Percival grinds into him, making Credence see stars, and Credence knows he's close again. Knows Percival is close, too, from the way the man's breathing quickens.

"I—inside?" Suddenly Credence knows exactly what he wants. "Inside. Please?"

"Fuck," Percival groans softly. He kisses Credence hard and deep, eyes sparkling when he pulls back. "You sure, baby?"

"We're wizards, Percival," Credence laughs breathily, "you'll clean me up, won't you?"

"Goddamn," Percival growls, before setting a harder pace, pulling at Credence's cock in time with his strokes. Credence nearly laughs at the no-maj swear that Percival's picked up from him, but he has other things to focus on. "C'mon, come for me, darling."

Credence spills easily; he's always so easy for Percival. Voice thick, he coaxes Percival to release. "Percy, come in me, please—"

Percival groans, pulling Credence into a kiss, he stills, spending inside. In delirious pleasure, Credence thinks he can almost feel it, and then he pulls Percival back down as the man tries to pull out and off of Credence.

"Just—stay, for a minute," Credence hiccups.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Percival sighs, running his fingers through Credence's hair, staring at him with half-open eyes. "Thought you'd want me off and out."

"No," Credence shudders. "No, this is perfect."

They stay like that for a few minutes, cooling down, petting down each other's bodies. Eventually, Percival pulls out, and Credence feels a little bereft, a little empty emotionally and physically. Percival is quick to touch him though. He teases Credence's entrance with a thumb, pushing his release back inside Credence. "So pretty, darling." 

Credence hides his face in Percival's pillow until Percival's had his fill of inspection and cleans Credence up. They curl up together, and Credence has never felt contentment like this in his life.

"I thought you worked today," Credence says softly.

"Well, I had to surprise you on your birthday," Percival murmurs, kissing his knuckles gently. Percival summons the tray of food over, still steaming hot, and feeds Credence by hand. They lay there for a good ten minutes, before Percival kissing his hand turns into Percival kissing up his arm, and up his neck. Getting kissed on the arm shouldn't feel this good.

A heat pools in Credence's groin, and his eyes flick away before settling back on Percival's face. "Again?"

Percival smirks, pulling Credence into a melting kiss. "Anything, kitten."

Credence blushes furiously. _"Percival!"_

"You don't like that one?"

 _"You're_ the cat!"

"A panther, and really, considering the scratches you left on my chest, darling—"

"Shut up and kiss me, Mr Graves."

* * *

"Now remember, darling, it's supposed to be a surprise."

"Ah, yes, every Saturday is such a surprise," Credence says drolly.

They step into the Goldsteins' apartment, and are met with loud cheers and alcohol. Credence gets hugged more than he ever has in his entire life. Queenie's cooked a feast fit for a king, and Credence feels a little overwhelmed, but that's what his family is like. There's cake, and even gifts, and eventually a board game, which winds down to a drunk Credence and Queenie dancing to the wireless.

Four shots of gigglewater later, Credence is smiling stupidly and gazing adoringly at Percival, even as Queenie is the one twirling him around on the dance floor. When the song changes to a slow, sultry saxophone number, Queenie pushes Credence into Percival's direction.

"Dance with me, Mr Graves?"

Percival's mouth twitches, the crow's-feet that Credence loves oh-so-dearly coming to form. "Of course, darling."

"You're staring," Credence whispers. He and Queenie had kicked their shoes off, Credence now just in his socks, and slouching from the alcohol. He's shorter than Percival this way, and he can't get enough of looking up at the older man.

"Of course I am," Percival says huskily, eyes slouched with fondness, sparkling. "You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, Credence."

Credence's cheeks are already red from the alcohol, but he's pretty sure he's blushing even more. He buries his face into Percival's chest. "I really think you should take a look in the mirror sometime, Percival. You—I can't believe you'd ever look at me twice when you're so handsome. I love you so much."

"Oh, darling," Percival sighs, pulling Credence impossibly closer. "I love you, too." Credence shivers at the warmth.

"Let's go home?" Credence suggests, looking up, biting his lip.

"Already?"

"Mm-hm. Take me home and take me to bed, Percival."

The corner of Percival's mouth twitches upwards. "Again?"

"Mm-hm," Credence lets his own smile bloom. "Again, and again, and again."

"Forever?"

"Yeah," Credence sighs happily. "Forever sounds nice."

Forever sounds _perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously tho, y'all ever tried pączki? i'm polish so they're an obsession and the custard filled ones are my fave <3


	8. so this is love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Sunday, Mr Graves pops the big question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all prayer circle this don't take a month again jfc.  
> *big rhianna wink*  
> of course it did!
> 
> this chapter was kind of fun to write. though it's a percival chapter, which i felt i struggled with before, this ended up being more like a free-write, because this is literally ALL percival thinking about how much he loves credence and wants to marry him.
> 
> title from 'so this is love' in cinderella, which was one of the main inspirations for this fic. take a listen to it here on youtube: 
> 
> [So This Is Love by Ilene Woods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnxupEXxrTI)

How Percival Graves spends Sundays (and of course, every other day) in April, May, June, and July is this:

  * Staring at Credence's lovely face.
  * Staring at Credence's bare left ring finger.
  * Imagining introducing Credence to people as _Credence Graves._
  * Desperately trying to muster up the courage to ask Credence to marry him.
  * Turning into his Animagus form so his brain doesn't think so much.



The limbo is nearly unbearable, except for the fact that it's Credence.

On a usual Sunday in July, Credence and Percival sit together in the living room. Cooling charms blow through the brownstone, enough that Credence is sitting under a blanket. Percival has finished reading the mail, and is content to hide behind the _Ghost_ and watch Credence fondly, while the young man peruses the newest catalog their tailor has delivered.

"What do you want for your birthday, Percy?" Credence has been letting out the nickname more and more, and Percival has almost become fond of it coming from Credence's mouth. The young man's question, however, is a bit of a surprise.

"What?" He nearly laughs. "Credence, it's not even August, yet."

"You didn't let me celebrate it last year," Credence frowns, flipping a page over in the catalog.

"Don't be silly. We went on our first date on my birthday last year."

Credence looks up and gives him an exasperated look. Percival _loves_ that look. "I want to get you something _nice._ I need time to plan."

Percival's birthday is in November. He's not entirely sure what Credence needs four months for, but Credence can sometimes be funny like that.

Then, suddenly, with a great mounting horror, Percival knows _exactly_ what they could use four months for—and what he wants for his birthday.

"Excuse me for a minute, darling. I need to get something from my office." Like a man to the guillotine, Percival takes himself to his office in the brownstone, and takes out Aunt Gertrude's ring box.

This is going to be so awful when Credence says _no._

* * *

The thing is, Percival has never had any real interest in marriage. Never had any real interest in commitment, a relationship, or love, either. Or the facsimile of it, paraded around in forms of arranged marriages of high pedigree, simply for the sake of names and bloodlines. Percival Graves is a man who has prided himself on being dedicated only to his professional life. Past lovers have left him due to his lack of interest; potential friends have fallen aside when they don't work with him at MACUSA.

And, yet.

The Percival Graves of just a year ago would scoff at the idea of sweating, clutching a ring box in his hand, and proposing to the love of his life. What was marriage even for, anyway? An Unbreakable Vow, which was fucking _unbreakable._ Relationships fell apart all the time. Why would he or anyone else want to be bound together for the rest of their lives when it was only going to peter out eventually? Stuck being miserable together, ending up in different relationships anyway? Or, worse, with the promise of fidelity upon punishment of death in the Vow, as wretchedly unhappy as his parents were?

And, yet.

Percival thinks of Credence for only a second, and all of those wicked thoughts go flying out of his mind. He wants to wake up to Credence every day, see the young man wrinkle his nose as the sunlight hits his face, and have him bury himself closer to Percival. He wants to see the glittering diamond and sapphire ring on Credence's finger, feel the warmth of the metal against his hand. Hear it clink against Aunt Gertrude's husband's ring, which she had secretly hidden away with her own. Have people in MACUSA congratulate Percival and Credence on such good matches with each other. Admire the ancient family heirloom that Percival Graves has given Credence. To introduce Credence to everyone, no matter who they are, first as _my fiancé, Credence Barebone,_ and then _my husband, Credence Graves._ Credence, his intended. His betrothed. Percival and Credence, engaged. Married. _  
_

No matter how adamant that Credence is about Percival being a good man, Percival knows that deep down, selfishness will always win out with him. It's selfish, really, to want to parade Credence around. To show everyone in the world, _look what I have. You can look, but you can't touch. This gorgeous, selfless, kind young man is mine, and only mine._ To have a binding Vow ensuring that Credence will never be with anyone but him. To hoard him as a dragon with its prize.

Then these thoughts come crashing down, because Credence is _young._ Percival is his _first everything._ As wizards, they both have long lives ahead of them, but Percival has twenty years on Credence, and he works in a high-risk department. How unfair would it be, to bind Credence to him forever, even after death, and leave him as a young widower? They've been together for eight months in July, now. Eight months, which have been utterly perfect so far. But Credence hasn't even finished schooling, has no idea what he wants to do in life. Percival would gladly finance the rest of Credence's each and every desire, but he knows Credence doesn't like it when Percival pays for everything. Their relationship is just as young as Credence is, and though Percival may be old and ready to settle down, why would Credence be?

Fuck. What has Percival been doing? Credence has his whole life ahead of him. What the hell would he want with an old man once he has his feet under him?

* * *

As Credence gets less shy, it's as if he blooms like a flower. Percival can't help but admire him, even before they start dating. Watching him become more straight-backed, confident, just with a little encouragement. Watching him make jokes at Percival's expense, and express emotions other than admiration. Become comfortable with Percival.

After they first make love, and Percival's racing heart has slowed, Credence eventually stiffens throughout his entire body, no longer comfortable.

"What's wrong, darling?" Percival asks immediately. If Credence is hurt, or regretted any bit of their relationship, Percival is going to leave everything in his will to Credence and Avada Kedavra himself.

"I just realized," Credence swallows heavily, still turned away from him, stiff in his arms. "You can—my scars. You can see them. I'm sorry."

Percival's heart falls out of his stomach and onto the floor. "Oh, _sweetheart."_ This floor bruise is never going to leave his heart. Then he steels himself, because he is Percival fucking Graves. "No, Credence, listen to me." He gently turns Credence in his arms, pulling the young man closer. "You don't _ever_ need to apologize for the way you look, and you _never_ have to apologize for what that bitch did to you."

After that, Percival rubs a lavender-scented potion over the scars on Credence's back every night, to help them smooth and fade. He's never done this for anyone. An old lover of his once tried to do this for him, and Percival had snarled, wounded and insulted. The relationship hadn't lasted long after that. 

So Percival appreciates the vulnerability Credence shows him in this; the trust regardless of Credence's hatred of the ugly scars, and the trauma of how they occurred. Letting Percival touch them, touch _him,_ back turned and exposed. Help heal them, though they will never disappear fully like a fresh scar would. Too old, and too deep. 

Percival hopes Mary Lou Barebone is burning in the hellfires she preached about. Protective, possessive; he wants to use Dark Arts to bring Mary Lou back to life just to inflict every torture she put Credence through, and then some. 

* * *

Early on in their cohabitation, Percival has noticed that some days Credence is even quieter than normal, and a little sadder. He usually perks up after a day or two, but this time it's lasted a few days. While typically solemn and quiet, this version of Credence tugs at something inside Percival's chest; makes him desperate to do _something,_ though he doesn't know what, exactly.

After lunch, desperate to cheer him up, Percival asks, "Credence? Do you want to see some magic?"

Credence smiles, though it's small and sad, still. "Okay," he says simply.

Percival transforms into his Animagus form, right there in the kitchen, and Credence lets out a surprised shriek.

"Mr Graves?" Credence yelps. He claps his hands to his mouth, then whispers, "Are you—are you the _cat?"_

Percival transforms back, stretching out his back. "I'm a panther. It's called an Animagus. Few wizards and witches can do it, as it takes a lot of effort to become one." So many of his peers were incredibly jealous when he finally managed the transformation, but he doesn't think that Credence would care. He thinks that Credence is properly impressed, anyway.

Eyes wide and hands still near his face, Credence says excitedly, "Can I—can you show me again?" Percival obliges him, easily. He stretches out languidly, then paws over to where Credence is sitting.

Credence tentatively pets Percival's ears and strokes a finger down his snout to his nose, unable to stop himself, before blushing furiously. "Sorry—sorry, I figure—you're still _you,_ aren't you?"

Percival rests his head on Credence's knee. He won't beg for pets, but. It's not the worst thing if Credence continues. It's been a while since he's been in this form.

"You're so beautiful," Credence whispers. Percival nearly preens.

Credence isn't so sad that day after that. For some reason, Percival feels a great sense of accomplishment.

* * *

After Scamander begins to teach Credence, Credence picks up drawing with charcoal. He says that Scamander recommends it as a way to fully understand the creatures, and it turns out that Credence is rather naturally talented. Percival even gets a few drawings framed and hangs them in the hallway, to Credence's embarrassment. 

Some days, Credence asks Percival to transform so Credence can draw his panther form. During the months that Percival agonizes over proposing, Percival even initiates it, just so he can spend more time in using his much-less-complicated panther brain.  


"You're very handsome," Credence laughs as Percival poses elegantly for him.  


It's easier to ignore things this way, and not think. While still himself, the animal brain tends to take over. A panther has no concerns over proposing when its mate is happy and healthy and warm and fed in their den. Of course, then it goes the opposite way and he spends too much time as a panther thinking of Credence as his _mate._ (And Credence conjures a paper bird that Percival nearly leaps after out of the window. He sulks, curled up in front of the fireplace, refusing to pose for at least an hour. Half an hour. Fifteen minutes.)  


"Oh, Percival," Credence says, trying to hide his laughing. "I'm sorry. Won't you turn around for me again?"

(Five minutes. He can stay strong—)

"Please?"

(Fuck, _fuck._ He's so damn easy for Credence.) 

He rolls over.

* * *

Central Park has never held any interest for Percival, but Credence loves it, and Percival loves Credence. Percival casts a Notice-Me-Not charm on the two of them when they go, and they walk arm-in-arm throughout the park, Credence curled close to him.

"I love the peacocks," Credence always says breathlessly when they reach their pen. He collects their loose colorful tail-feathers and decorates the brownstone with them. Percival finds himself increasingly fond of blue and green. "Did you know there are all-white ones? Newt says they're called albinos. They're missing something in them that produces color. Did you know they're closely related to phoenixes? Newt says he's seen one!"

In the warmer summer months, Percival considers proposing there a few times. The one day he actually decides to go for it, one of Scamander's creatures appears and ruins the proposal. He then writes off Central Park as a proposal space.

* * *

Sometimes Percival takes out Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Sisyphus' rings out at work, places them on his desk, and stares. One day in May, he alters the rings a little. Makes Aunt Gertrude's band a little thicker, a little more masculine. More fitting for Credence. Looks at Uncle Sisyphus' wedding band on his own finger. Adds a couple emeralds, thinking of peacocks. Carefully engraves a peacock tail feather on the inside of both bands with his wand.

That day, Tina bursts in, unannounced, as per usual, and gapes unattractively.

"Sir," Tina gulps, slamming the door shut behind her. _Fuck._ "Sir, _please_ tell me those are evidence."

"They're evidence," Percival says quickly, then stupidly puts them back in the box and _in his vest pocket._

"Oh, Mercy Lewis," Tina sputters, because she hasn't got this far as an Auror being stupid. "I need—I need to sit down for a second." She throws herself into the chair across from Percival, then holds her hand out. "Well, let's see them!"

This is how Tina becomes Percival's confidante. Every Saturday dinner they sit down together, Tina pointedly inspects Credence's left hand, and looks both relieved and disappointed that there's no ring to be found. Percival would scowl at her contrary disposition if he were twenty years younger. Worse, there's no hiding anything from Queenie, who just giggles every time she sees him.

He and Credence are going to fucking _elope,_ damn these women. It'll be a cruise, and Scamander and Kowalski will come with them, and they'll drop the men in far-off Britain and sail off. See how well Tina and Queenie like _that._

* * *

Credence makes steak for dinner one night, and for an infuriating second, Percival thinks that Credence is going to beat him to proposing. That would be just like Credence, for Percival to agonize over this for months, and just do it nice and easy.

Credence is so nervous, in a way he hasn't been since he first came to live with Percival. Percy remembers how skittish Credence was at the beginning of their cohabitation. How his moods would swing until he began taking the Draft of Peace. The table is set with candles and fine china, the lighting is low. Credence is dressed nice.

Percival is immediately suspicious.

"What's the occasion, darling?"

"I made steak?" Credence says, twisting his fingers together, like making steak is an _occasion._ Percival eats steak all the time when they go out. Credence is a wonderful cook, but he never makes steak at home. In fact—

Oh.

"I've made every single meal in _Mrs Cauldron._ This was the last one."

Percival takes a bite of the medium-rare meat and nearly proposes then and there, it's so delicious. 

(Then he chokes, too enthused, and ruins the moment.)

* * *

The closest thing they get to fighting is when Percival tries to make Credence do something. Like leave him for someone newer, younger, more exciting.

"You don’t know what to do yet," Percival tries carefully one day. "Maybe you should go out and explore. Meet people, experience new things." 

"I don’t want to do that if you’re not with me," Credence huffs. He's fed up with this, Percival can tell. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of quiet and a homebody. I’m not looking for some great adventure. All I’ve ever wanted were friends and a family. And I have that _here,_ with _you,_ and I don’t want to go anywhere without you. _You’re_ my home." 

They're standing on opposite ends of the kitchen, and Credence's arms are wrapped around himself. Percival aches to hold him. "Are we—are we done having this conversation? Because if you don't want me here, any more—"

"No," Percival blurts out. "No, no, Credence, I'm sorry. That's not at all what I meant." He's fucking this all up, of course.

"Then what do you mean, every time? This isn't the first time we've had this conversation." That's true.

"I'm worried about you missing out on things."

"Like what? What on Earth could I possibly be missing out on that I don't have here, with you, already?"

"People your age—"

Credence gives a wet laugh. "Maybe it's _you_ that's missing out on _people your age._ Queenie and Tina are only a bit older than me, and Newt and Jacob only a bit older than them. Are you sure you're not the one missing out on things people your age do? Every time you bring this up—it feels like you're trying to get rid of me."

"Never," Percival sighs. "I never want you to be gone, Credence. That's the problem."

"I don't understand; that's what I want, too!"

He really, really doesn't understand. Credence thinks Percival is a good man. Kind. Not selfish. 

"I always want you beside me. In my home, in my bed. I want to just—fucking Apparate into the woods some days and live like hermits, just ourselves. One day... one day, you're going to realize how much I've kept you from experiencing. You're going to resent me for keeping you with me. That you didn't get to be young and carefree and have fun—instead that you got saddled with an old man." 

"Were _you_ happy?"

"What?"

"When you were young and carefree and made all your—your stupid friends, that you don't have, any more, by the way, except for Madam Picquery, when you partied and then only ever worked and never fell in love with anyone before me, having _fun,_ were you _happy?"_

No. Merlin, no. Pleasure, triumph, accomplishment—these are all things he felt, mostly in relation to his professional successes. Percival didn't know what happiness was, until he had Credence. "...no."

"So why do you think I would be? Being with you makes me happy—you want to pack up our home and move to the country and never see anyone again? That's fine. I'd love to live with you like that. I'd be happy like that. But we both know you'd never actually stop me from going out, and visiting, and—doing whatever you think I should be doing. I could never hate you or resent you, because you've never stopped me from doing anything, and you won't. You've given me everything, and never asked for anything in return. You make me happy."

"You make me happy. You're the first thing in a very, very long time that has."

"I feel the same way. So can we please stop having these awful conversations where you try to make me leave you?"

Percival crosses the kitchen and gathers Credence up at the first sight of tears.

"I'm worried about scaring you, suffocating you," Percival murmurs into Credence's hair. "I'm worried—I never want to remind you of Grindelwald, or that Barebone woman. I don't want you to think you have to stay with me out of obligation."

"Do _you_ feel obligated? To take care of me, because Tina asked you to, and then I saved you, and he hurt us both using your face? Do you feel obligated to love me?"

"Never," Percival breathes, kissing Credence's temple. "Credence, sweetheart, it's so easy to love you. All I ever want to do is take care of you."

"Well, it's easy to love you, too," Credence says tightly. "I like taking care of you, too. You never remind me of them. Thinking of you helps. _Being_ with you helps. Please don't—please don't take yourself away from me. How could I ever—how could I do better than Percival Graves, Director of Magical Law Enforcement? Right-hand man of the President of MACUSA? Voted Most Handsome MACUSA Employee eight years running?"

"What?" Percival coughs out.

* * *

Credence will dance drunk and happy with him and say things like _forever_ and _always_ and _again,_ and these give Percival hope that Credence wants what he does, too. That Credence sees a future together, past getting himself back on his feet and as a successful adult wizard. That he wants to stay. That he wants to cook through the second and third editions of _Mrs Cauldron_ , and the handwritten recipe book Tina and Queenie had bestowed upon him for his birthday. That he wants to get a kneazle together. Travel together. Maybe eventually move to a little cottage, just the two of them and their pet kneazle, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Build a garden together, like young Percy always wanted to with Aunt Gertrude and never got to. Visit their little cobbled-together family every Saturday, exchanging gifts and hugs and stories.

Fuck. Credence has him considering _kids,_ if that's what Credence wants.

* * *

When Credence lets the nickname slip out in the middle of sex, Percival doesn't even notice it at first, until the opportunity to tease him with _kitten_ presents itself.

Percy. He's never liked the shortened version of his name. His parents always called him Percival, even at a young age. Aunt Gertrude called him Percy. Sera had laughed wickedly when a teacher called him Percy, and forever called him Graves after that. He desperately tried to make teachers call him Graves as well after that. (Only Professor Harker waved off his efforts.)

He doesn't particularly like his first name, even. He's been comfortable for forty years as Graves. But something flutters in his chest (probably pixies) when Credence utters his name, and then shyly tries out the nickname. He might be okay, as long as it's only Credence using it.

Fuck. He'd happily prance around as Percy the Pretty Pony if it made Credence happy, damn it.

This love thing is the _worst._

The list of endearments Percival wants to unleash on Credence in reverse is fantastically long. Some, like kitten and angel, he just wants to see Credence blush. Some, like dearest and sweetness, he wants to test, to see how they fit around Credence. Some, like darling and sweetheart, came automatically, and fit Credence like a glove. Some, like treasure and beloved, he feels reveal too much.

Drunk enough in bed on Credence's eyes and hands and lips, though, they might all come tumbling out, and Percival wouldn't be entirely unhappy.

* * *

Credence likes wearing soft sweaters, and Percival likes seeing him in them. He likes seeing Credence wearing his old Ilvermorny sweaters that fit, and his newer, bigger ones that drape and wrap around Credence like a blanket. Something possessive in him likes it very much. He likes that Credence's hands are softer, now that he does most everything with magic. Percival likes the feeling of the calluses, but he likes the fact that Credence doesn’t have to work his hands to the bone even more. Credence has filled out and even put on lithe muscle from helping out every Thursday with Scamander's creatures, and the young man's body makes Percival's heart stop every time he sees it before him. 

Percival likes the way their bodies fit together, staying on top of Credence, promising safety and hiding him carefully away. He likes the way Credence lets him wrap around Credence early in the morning, when they have murmured talks together, and sometimes rock together and bring each other to heights of pleasure and completion. He could stay in bed all day with Credence. Stay inside the young man's warm body, curled around him. Slip between his thighs as they begin to wake. Credence's weight on top of him makes him feel secure at night. Reminds him he’s alive and that Grindelwald is gone from their lives; can’t control either one of them again. 

He likes the first thing he hears in the morning to be Credence's laugh. He likes taking care of someone, and providing for them, even though he's never done it before. Not even for himself, really. He likes when Credence gets drunk, because Credence gets a little less tense, surprisingly chatty and even catty, making Percival laugh. He doesn't think he's laughed this much in his entire life before this year with Credence. He could live without Credence, but he doesn't ever want to again. He supposes this is what youth was supposed to feel like; happy and like he could take on the entire world and it wouldn't be hard work. 

Percival's eager to leave work now and come home to Credence. Before, it was an odd day if he left the office before eight in the evening. After living with Credence, the first week back at work Percival was nearly unbearable and Percival hated being away from him. He'd come home early just to see Credence. Now, he likes coming home early to help out in the kitchen. He can chop vegetables and clean up scraps of food for Credence. Steal pieces of food just for Credence to swat at him. Crowding in behind Credence, hooking his chin over Credence's shoulder, arms around his waist, watching him cook. Hugging him from behind and watching contentedly. Being fed tastes of stews and such by Credence's hand and asked for his opinion. 

Trust is difficult. But it never has been with Credence. Shy, but resilient, the perfect complement to Percival that he never knew he wanted or needed.  The way Credence barely waits to return the sentiment when Percival says _I love you._ Blushes and looks so happy. He likes casting a warming charm on a blanket and tucking Credence in on the rare days he wakes before Credence does.  He desperately wants to find things that Credence wants, just to give him what he desires and see the happiness spread over his face. 

He likes the way their dry humor balances together, a bit dark and sarcastic. The memory of the first time Credence beat him at Wizard's Chess. How he was secretly relieved when Credence and he finished reading through the Bible together, and Credence put it away on the shelf, and didn't seek out another church. When his tailor had first dressed Credence in the green suit, and Percival's jaw had nearly dropped, sending sparks flying in his gut. How decadent Credence had looked in it, that he immediately told both Credence and his tailor that it was coming home, no matter what. The first time Credence had called the brownstone home, and how Percival realized that he himself had never referred to it as home until Credence had.

Percival doesn't know how he lived without Credence's coffee in the morning. Or Credence seeing him off to work with a second cup. Or Credence welcoming him home, taking his coat and scarf in exchange for a tumbler of whiskey. Kisses hello and goodbye and all sorts in between. Someone to wake up to, wake up _for._ Someone to spend time with, liven up the quiet monotony of life, and share the quiet peace together. Someone to spend lazy Sundays with. Saturdays, even—he's got enough seniority in the department to swing two whole days off.

His love. His darling Credence, who has carved himself into Percival's bones and made a home in his heart.

Oh. So this is love.

* * *

"You were gone for a while. Did you think about what you want for your birthday, Percival?" Credence asks when Percival returns, lifting his head up from his tailor's catalog.

Percival feels the small box with Aunt Gertrude's ring practically burning in his pocket. He makes up his mind, and suddenly, looking at Credence, it feels easy. The way everything feels, with Credence.

"I—Credence, that is, I really only want one thing for my birthday. And that's you." Percival drops to his knee in front of the armchair, pulling out the ring and presenting it to Credence. "I love you very much, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together. Will you do me the honor of marrying me, darling?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credence says no.  
> JK JK JK
> 
> does central park have peacocks? idk and idc. but luscious mouthful's manor has fucking albino peacocks, and that's fucking rad.
> 
> pls comment and let me know what u think!!!! <3


	9. so this is love part deux!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throughout the week, news of Mr Graves and the future Mr Graves' engagement comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone so much for the wonderful response to my last chapter. i hope the rest of this fic will continue to entertain!
> 
> y'all i got i job now. unfortunately, that means updates... are gonna take a long time. we're probs looking at one-a-month if we're lucky. i work during the exact time that i write.... 2 am.... (i know, ur all so shocked that it'll be a month of waiting...)
> 
> the most important thing for everyone to know is that my current biggest headcanon right now is that percy wears and applies chapstick like cable does in deadpool 2. imagine him walking into a room full of aurors. everyone goes silent. he just pulls out chapstick and looks them all dead in the eye as he applies it and puts it away. 
> 
> enjoy!

How Credence spends the following full minute after Percival proposes is this:

  * Gaping.
  * Brain-dead.
  * Possibly going into cardiac arrest.
  * Stupidly in love.



When his brain returns from the void, tears spring unbidden to his eyes, and he can see Percival panic immediately. It would almost be funny, if—if Percival wasn't fucking _proposing_ —

“Oh, fuck, Credence—”

“No, no—NO, I don't mean _no,_ oh my God,” Credence panics as well, wiping hurriedly at his face. “I meant—they're not sad tears, I'm just—oh, my God, _Percy.”_

“It's—fine, it's okay, darling, you don't need to—you can say no, you can take some time to think—” Percival starts to lean out of Credence's space, away from him.

“No!” Credence interrupts him. “Oh, God, NO, I don't mean—” Completely overwhelmed, he launches himself at Percival, overwhelmed, tackling the older man down onto his back and on the floor. “Of _course_ I want to—you really want to marry me?”

“Of course I want to,” Percival croaks, out of breath, gently wiping the tears from Credence's cheeks.

“Okay,” Credence whispers, starting to shake. “Okay. I think I'm having a heart attack.”

“Oh, good, that's both of us, then,” Percival says. His voice is calm, but Credence can feel Percival's chest trembling underneath his, the thundering of their hearts against each other's. “Do you want to see the ring?”

The _ring._ “Oh! Yes, I didn't really—look.” Percival got him a _ring._ Because he wants to _marry_ Credence.

“Bit preoccupied,” Percival nods. “Understandable.” An understatement. He pulls out the box again, and this time, Credence gets a good look.

“You really want to marry me,” Credence mumbles, unable to tear his eyes away from the ring, struck by the glittering diamonds and sapphires. It must have cost a fortune; Percival has a horrible habit of spoiling him with extravagant gifts.

“Tina is going to be insufferable when I tell her you said no, first.”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Credence looks down at Percival in shock. “I did not!”

The little crow's feet Credence loves appear in the corners of Percival's eyes as he gazes back at Credence, and he feels himself melting down on top of Percival. “Rejected me three times, darling—in fact, did you really even say yes?”

“Ask me again, then!” Credence laughs absurdly, half-nervous, half-excited. He can’t believe—

“Credence, marry me?” —okay, maybe he can.

“Yeah," he gets out hoarsely; Percival raises a magnificent eyebrow, "yes, damn it!”

Percival smiles and slips the ring on Credence's finger, and like magic, like their bodies and their minds, like their love, it fits perfectly.

* * *

Monday morning, Credence wakes up in Percival's arms, as usual. _Unusually,_ his eye gets caught on the sparkling gems on his finger, reflecting the sunrise filtering into their bedroom. It winks up at him, like a secret, like a beacon, like it's saying _hello, I'm here, I love you._

Jesus Christ. Merlin. Mercy Lewis.

Percival wants to _marry_ him.

Credence slips out of Percival's arms and out of their bed, slips on a robe and slippers, and shuffles into the kitchen to begin breakfast.

When Percival leaves for work, he picks up Credence's hand and kisses the ring. Suddenly, all the times that Percival's kissed Credence's left hand rush to his mind, and he blushes furiously before he shoves Percival into disapparating.

* * *

Monday afternoon, Tina and Queenie arrive for lunch. _Prepared._

“Well—I asked Percival what he wanted for his birthday,” Credence mutters, face burning red as they both admire the ring on his finger, right there in the foyer. “And that’s when he proposed.”

“So _romantic,”_ Queenie sighs. Tina gives her a sideways look.

“Our great-grandmother's engagement ring had a frog and a tiny crystal ball on it!” Queenie continues, cheerfully ignoring Tina.

“A frog?” Credence blinks. And a crystal ball? Wizarding customs were so _weird_. He suddenly feels extremely glad that Percival has such excellent—albeit expensive—taste.

“Oh, yeah, and it really told little fortunes, too!”

“Queenie’s been planning her wedding since we were kids,” Tina interrupts, holding up a box of magazines.

“Teenie says that like she hasn't been planning hers, too,” Queenie mock-whispers. “Especially _lately_ with that gentleman caller of hers.”

“We’ve collected a lot of stuff through the years,“ Tina says loudly, bumping Queenie out of the way with the box. Her face is now just as red as Credence's. “Thought they might help.” Then, she looks a little sheepish, and a little hopeful. “And that—maybe we could help?”

Help—oh, fuck. Weddings involved _planning_. Credence pales. “Please.”

Tina and Queenie herd him into his own kitchen, and Tina dumps the box onto the table while Queenie makes tea.

“Oooh, we're so excited for you's two! Have you thought about a date yet?”

It's been less than twenty-four hours. Credence has barely had _any_ thoughts since Percival proposed. “Well, we haven't really—but I guess—maybe on his birthday? Because that’s what he said when—but then maybe he wouldn’t want it on his actual birthday, but it’s also the day of our first date—”

“What about Halloween?” Tina suggests, looking up from the slew of magazines and catalogs across the table.

“Oooh, a Halloween wedding is lucky!” Queenie nods in excitement. Tina piles some autumn-themed wedding magazines together. “And then you's two’d have his birthday and anniversary all to yourselves!” She gives him a salacious wink.

It's the first one, but it's definitely not the last of the day. Credence supposes they're worth suffering, if it means Tina and Queenie will help with the wedding planning.

* * *

Credence wakes with gasping breaths Tuesday morning, tears already spilling over.

_I'm done with you. I'm done with you. I'm done with you._

“Sweetheart—hey, hey, Credence, sweetheart, you're okay, it's okay, I'm here. It was just a nightmare; you're right here with me.” Percival's immediately up beside him in bed, turning a bedroom lamp on with a snap of his fingers.

“What if you made a mistake?” Credence shudders out, unable to stop shaking. Unable to stop thinking, over and over, the way Mr Graves—no, Gindelwald—the way _Grindelwald_ was so easily done with Credence, had discarded him like garbage. “God, please don't—I love you so much, please don't get rid of me—”

“I love you,” Percival says firmly, Credence's dependable love. “Loving you could never be a mistake.” He grips Credence's trembling hands in his, running a thumb over the ring. “I want you to be with me forever, Credence. Open your eyes, darling. This ring is my fucking promise. You ever get nightmares or doubts like this again, you just look at this ring. Do you understand?”

“ _No_ , _”_ Credence gets out wretchedly. “I don't get how— _why_ would someone like _you_ love someone like _me—”_

“Credence,” Percival barks, sliding a hand through Credence's sweat-matted hair to cup the back of his skull. “You are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. You make me happy and you make me laugh and you make me feel things I never thought I would. I love you and I never want to be without you. You aren't something I could ever discard—sweetheart, I promise you, I'm not Grindelwald.” They both flinch at the name in their bed, but Percival perseveres. “I love you so much I want to marry you. Next time you see Seraphina, you ask her, okay? Ask her if I've ever even thought about marriage before you. She'll laugh herself into hiccups; you'll get a kick out of it. I gave you this ring because it's my promise that I will love you forever and I'll always be yours. So you just look at this ring and you can know I love you and want you forever. Can you do that?”

No—yes—no—maybe. Credence looks down at the ring and remembers, _hello, I'm here, I love you._ “Okay. Okay, I'll try.”

As Credence tries to calm down, Percival sits there beside him, gently stroking his hands as a point of connection, without overcrowding him. He speaks lowly, letting his voice wash over Credence as he works through the residual panic.

“You aren't the only one who's scared, Credence. You know I’ve carried that ring around since February? I didn't think you'd say yes.”

Credence chokes out a laugh. He starts to lean into Percival's space. “How could I not?”

“See, so how could I not?”

“That's not the same,” Credence mutters, finally slumping into Percival's hold.

“My pretty fiancé,” Percival murmurs, kissing away the tear at the corner of Credence’s eye. He holds him so dearly, so tenderly; Credence could never feel anything but safe with him. “Of course they are, darling.”

“I'm not pretty,” Credence huffs mulishly into his shoulder.

“Oh, that's right. You're just exquisite. Handsome. Incredibly attractive.”

“Stop it,” Credence sniffs with laughter. He sighs and swallows tightly, grateful for Percival like always and forever.

“It's nearly five," Percival says gently, stroking Credence's hair. “Why don't you take your potion now?”

“Yeah.” Credence nods, and does just that.

“Do you want to hear something funny?” Percival asks, as they lay back down together.

“Sure,” Credence sniffs again, tucking himself into Percival's side.

“I thought you were going to propose, actually. The night you made steak.” Percival's words nearly make Credence sit up again.

“I— _really?_ You choked on my steak! I nearly had to take you to the hospital!”

“Darling, it's not the first or last time I'll choke on your meat.”

“ _Percival!”_

* * *

Percival loves fashionable clothes so much; he reminds Credence of a fanned-out peacock strutting around beautifully. It's part of the reason Credence likes seeing them so much at Central Park. The man is a clothes snob. The first time Credence had seen Mr Graves’ wardrobe, he nearly had a heart attack at all the multitudes of fine apparel.

(The first time Credence saw Mr Graves in a tank-top and pyjama pants he had to swiftly leave the room. The man's biceps are a _weapon.)_

Handsome and smug because he knows it; Credence loves seeing Percival dress and become all put together in the mornings. But he loves when Percival comes home and loosens up. Stray strands of hair falling into his eyes. Sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms. A bit of a beard growing before he shaves it. Sometimes, when he’s home alone, Credence will spray Percival’s cologne in the air just to smell it and be comforted by it.

They both like when Percival leaves his neck-tie last and Credence fixes it for him. Percival likes doing it in return, though he tends to get rather handsy afterwards.

On Wednesday, Percival informs Credence of a charity ball being held Sunday night at MACUSA, for Youth with Spattergroit, where there will definitely be the opportunity to show off their extremely expensive and trendy clothes.

“It could be the night we announce our engagement,” Percival says carefully, while Credence wonders what on Earth spattergroit could be.

“Oh,” Credence says. “I suppose I never thought—most people put their announcements in the newspaper, I suppose. No-majs, I mean.”

“Wizards do, too,” Percival says. “Going to this charity ball with a ring on your finger is as good as, though. It’ll end up in the paper no matter what.”

“Is it important? That we announce it in the paper ourselves?”

“Either way, we’re going to be on page one.”

Credence settles back into his armchair and decides to think about something else. “What should I wear to a charity ball?”

“Wear the emerald suit,” Percival says casually, looking away from him and fluffing out the pages of the _Ghost._

Credence narrows his eyes. “I know what you think of me in that suit. Shouldn’t I wear something a little more... decent?”

The corners of Percival’s lips twitch.

“What about the navy-blue suit?” Conservative. Fashionable, because Percival would have nothing less in his home, but still.

The corners of Percival's mouth turn down the slightest bit.

“Oh, no?” Credence asks wryly.

“You look wonderful in jewel tones,” Percival says as neutrally as possible. “Like emerald. And perhaps sapphire, instead of navy blue.” Credence thinks it’s _real_ interesting that Percival himself dresses sparingly in color, but absolutely insists on Credence in an entirely jewel-bright ensemble. The man is always beautifully attired, but Credence thinks that Percival would look much better in a brightly-colored outfit than him.

“I don’t _have_ a sapphire suit,” Credence says suspiciously. He has a sapphire _ring_.

“Oh, no?” Percival flips a page.

“Percy,” Credence says warningly, “if I find a sapphire suit in the closet—”

“—then you should try it on,” Percival says. He lays down the paper and summons a pen to start filling out the crossword. He finally looks up at Credence, mirth on his face. “And show me. Only if it exists, of course.”

“Of course,” Credence says dryly.

“There’s cufflinks to match in my drawer.”

Credence sighs, and drags himself to their room.

The suit, when Credence pulls it from the tailor's bag, is just as exquisite and decadent and beautiful as Credence expected. Threaded through with silver, glittering stars and moons wink in and out of existence along the lapels and waistcoat; the sapphire shows them off like the night sky.

Credence tries on the suit, promptly dies, comes back to life, and puts it back on the hanger in the bag.

“It didn’t fit? You didn’t like it?” Percival looks like a clucking occamy when he arrives back in the living room sans-suit.

“Maybe,” Credence shrugs. “I suppose you won’t find out until the ball.”

“Oh, thank—wait—” Percival practically puffs up. “Credence, darling, that’s in two _weeks.”_ Credence hasn’t seen Percival this desperate since he proposed.

“Is it?” Credence says absently, picking up his book once more. “Interesting.”

“Darling,” Percival says.

“Percy,” Credence returns.

“Vexing,” Percival huffs.

“Expensive,” Credence huffs back. He waves his ringed hand at Percival. “Considering you just gave me this.”

“I like spoiling you, darling,” Percival says. “And the ring has been in my family for generations. It was my Aunt Gertrude’s.”

“Oh,” Credence says, softening. “It’s just—a lot of money.”

“Money is no object, sweetheart. I get new suits every few months. You haven’t got a new one since you moved in. I’ve never had to think about money my entire life.”

“I’ve had to think about money my entire life,” Credence says quietly. “There was never a day that went by that I didn’t. I still do. When Ma—Mary Lou didn’t get enough donations, she’d threaten to toss me out in the middle of winter so she didn’t have another mouth to feed. But when I’d try to hide money to try to leave, she always found it. The amount of money you just—drop on things like suits—”

“I’m sorry,” Percival apologizes, coming to sit beside Credence. “I should have thought—I do know how you feel about money.”

“Just—ask me, first?”

“Of course,” Percival says seriously, stroking down Credence’s cheek. Credence leans into it like a flower to the sun, sighing.

“You just like dressing me up,” Credence accuses without heat. He’s curious to know what else Percival would dress him in, given free reign. The smirk on Percival’s face makes Credence flush.

Suddenly, Credence thinks of the decadent green suit, the exquisite _sapphire_ suit, the fancy outfits that Madam Picquery wears, and wonders for the first time what exactly wizards wear to get married.

“It's traditional to wear robes, but we can really wear whatever we want,” Percival shrugs. Credence's mouth goes into a moue. As fantastical as robes are, Credence has never really felt comfortable wearing one. And though he had never ever pictured himself getting married in his lifetime before Percival, Credence supposes that he had so far been assuming they would both be in suits, or perhaps tuxedos. And, of course, his Mr Graves does look ever so wonderful in a smart suit.

He supposes that's one more thing to discuss with Tina and Queenie.

* * *

On Thursday:

“Oh, Credence, you might want to hide your engagement ring in a safe place before we go in the suitcase,” Newt says nonchalantly, immediately upon seeing him. “The Niffler will like that very much. Congratulations, by the way.”

* * *

On Friday, Queenie drags him into the back of the bakery before Jacob really sees either of them.

“Let's see how long it takes him to notice!” she giggles conspiratorially, dragging Credence in by the hand.

When Jacob finally does make it in to the kitchen, he notices the ring immediately, but not what it actually is.

“Oh, hey, Credence. That's a real nice piece of jewelry ya got there. Are you sure you wanna wear that while you're—wow, that really is something.” Jacob inspects it in awe, politely letting Credence hold his own hand up, rather than grabbing at him.

“Mr Graves got it for him,” Queenie says pleasantly, smoothly giving nothing away on her face.

“That Graves really has a taste for the high life, huh?” Jacob laughs, then walks out of the room to the cash register, letting Queenie and Credence get to it. As soon as he's out of the room, Queenie giggles, and then Jacob immediately walks back in.

“Wait,” Jacob says. Queenie looks as casual as ever, like she had never giggled even once in her life.

 _“No!”_ Jacob exclaims, wide eyes looking at Queenie.

“Yeah!” She squeals, breaking, jumping on the balls of her heels.

Jacob crosses the kitchen in two steps and engulfs Credence in a sudden hug. “Holy moly, congratulations, kid! I'm real happy for ya!”

“Thanks,” Credence wheezes. Jacob pulls back and sets him back down on the floor.

“Listen, Credence,” Jacob says so seriously, Credence is sure he's about to get fired. “You know, I _gotta_ do your wedding cake. Queenie! Hey, we're cooking for the wedding, right?”

“We haven't discussed it, yet,” Credence wheezes, this time out of shock. “I—oh, you really want to—for us?”

“Of course, kid! That's what family is for!” Jacob possibly looks even more excited than Queenie.

“Oh my God,” Jacob mumbles suddenly, eyes wide and smacking his hand to his head. “I gotta—samples! Credence, Graves can't—nah, nah, he's a busy guy, I'll send you home with samples, and you can make notes... Chocolate, and strawberry and caramel...” Credence starts to feel overwhelmed, and it's just _cake._

“Jacob, honey,” Queenie gently interrupts his rambling. Credence thinks longingly of Percival calling him _Credence, darling._ “What if we do a whole food tasting tomorrow instead of a regular dinner? That way we can all help Credence and Mr Graves out.”

“Queenie, baby, you light up my life,” Jacob says, pulling her into his arms and smacking a kiss to her forehead. “You are so smart; where would I be without ya?”

Queenie giggles. “I dunno, but I'm real glad we found each other.”

* * *

Sunday evening, Credence and Percival dress for spattergroit, and nearly don’t make it out of the house. Credence has to fix Percival’s bow-tie three times, because he keeps pulling it undone whenever Percival gets within three feet of him.

The man looks fucking stunning. Credence is _so_ lucky.

“You are going to be the most beautiful creature at this stupid event,” Percival says smugly, fixing Credence’s own bow-tie. Credence disagrees, and bats his hands away before they can get carried away. Again.

“We’re late already,” Credence groans. “Queenie is going to just look at me and know— _Tina_ is going to look at me—”

“But darling,” Percival murmurs, “we’re engaged.” Credence’s heart jolts, and he nearly steps back into Percival’s space.

“We’re late,” he manages to get out, spinning on his heel and going to put on his evening coat.

* * *

This is how the evening starts, and continues:

“Oh, Percy, so wonderful to see you,” an old woman croaks out. “And who’s this handsome young man with you?”

“Hello, Mrs Applewood,” Percival says. “May I introduce you to my fiancé, Credence Barebone? Credence, this is Mrs Charity Applewood.”

“Oh, Percy, is that Gertie’s ring? She always used to say you’d find a special one!”

Credence can tell Percival is taken aback by this, but no one else notices. “She was a wise woman, my Aunt Gertrude.”

“I’m so happy for you, love,” Mrs Applewood says. “And congratulations.” She then hobbles away with her cane, smacking various people with it as she goes. 

“That woman has hated me since I set her favorite rose bush on fire,” Percival says mildly. “She whacked me in the shins ten times with that very cane. I’m pretty sure she just cursed us.”

Credence elbows him subtly in the gut.

* * *

Credence’s hand gets pulled and prodded so many times that he nearly considers putting the ring on his right hand, just to give his left a break. Most conversations he overhears are whispers about his and Percival’s engagement, rather than the Youth with Spattergroit.

The scariest of all is when Seraphina Picquery appears, and Percival leaves him with her to sort something out.

Seraphina reminds him of a cat playing with a fat mouse. While Credence is sure Percival would never let her try to kill him again, Credence still doesn’t like being alone with her. She obligingly admires the ring on his finger, before procuring both of them tall flutes of champagne that are floating around the room. Credence nearly downs the whole thing the instant it's in his hand.

“You’ve changed him.”

“Sorry?” Credence coughs out. He finishes off his drink so that he doesn't have to keep speaking.

“Are you?” Seraphina asks wryly, before downing her glass, too. She clinks her empty flute against Credence’s. “Because I’m quite happy about it. Congratulations on your engagement, Mr Barebone.”

She leaves as Percival reappears, and Credence lets out a breath.

The rest of the night continues, but Percival stays right there beside Credence, arm around his waist, or hand at the small of his back, encouraging, comforting the instant Credence begins to feel overwhelmed. Most people seem to just want to ingratiate themselves to Percival. Several journalists approach them, and run away just as quickly as Percival speaks to them. A flash of light goes off in front of them, and Percival sighs.

“Well, that’s that, darling. We’ll be in the paper tomorrow morning.”

* * *

On Monday, Hundreds of letters from well-wishers and co-workers and ass-kissers fly in, slyly requesting invitations to the wedding.

“Do you even want those people at the wedding?” Credence asks, trying to tamp down his hysteria when fifty-six letters get delivered that morning.

“Fuck, no,” Percival snorts. “All we need is you and me. Whoever we want, Credence.”

“These cards are so... fancy,” Credence mutters, flipping through them. Some sparkle, some speak, and some _cry_ , when sad, jilted people beg for Percival to consider them, instead.

Percival shrugs. “Wait ‘til you see the wedding cards.” Credence feels vaguely ill.

Credence hands over _The New York Ghost_ to Percival, who lays it out on the table. A picture of them—which still surprises Credence a little when he sees it move—is on the front page. The headlines read out:

_PERCIVAL GRAVES: HEIR TO GRAVES OF ORIGINAL TWELVE AURORS, ENGAGED AT FORTY-THREE TO POSSIBLE SCOURER DESCENDANT?_

“That is the nicest headline with my name in it I’ve ever read,” Percival says mildly, before flipping the page over.

“That’s it?” Credence says feebly, sitting down with his magazine. “I somehow expected… worse.”

“Ah, darling,” Percival says quickly, “maybe don’t read _Witch Weekly_ this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's suits and lingerie. percy absolutely wants to dress him in suits and lingerie. too bad this ain't that kinda fic lmao!!! we are sweet and vanilla in this 'verse. oh no looks like i should write a bonus?
> 
> please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> out of curiosity... would anyone care if i created a tumblr specifically for my writing? i'm not really sure what i'd post there other than "IM SORRY IM STILL WORKING ON IT I KNOW ITS BEEN A MONTH" and memes...


	10. one thousand and one nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On October 31st, the future Mr Graves officially becomes Mr Graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from the classic disney aladdin commercial where it's all "THEY"RE FINALLY GETTING MARRIED" which of course was based on Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, a folk tale added to the One Thousand and One Nights.
> 
> i hope you enjoy it! leave a comment if you can :)

Credence Barebone, soon to be Credence Graves (and isn't _that_ a dizzying thought), has only the following few complaints about his life:

  * Increasing prices of food (in both no-maj and wizarding markets.)
  * Having to translate the value of dollars to dragots in his head.
  * Fewer animals on display at Central Park due to the cooler temperatures at night.
  * Wedding planning.



One Saturday dinner in mid-August, among his family, Credence thinks: _this is what I want._

Suddenly, all of the wedding planning seems exorbitant. What's the point of a huge party, when all of the people he wants are right here in this very room? What's the point of inviting people he barely knows, and whom he'll probably never see again?

He ponders it over Sunday. Percival, of course, is no help—he hates everyone; suggests eloping and going on a cruise. (He also mentions something odd about taking Newt and Jacob with them.)

"What do you guys think about a simple wedding?" Credence blurts out during his now-weekly Monday lunch with Tina and Queenie. "Very— _very_ simple."

Tina blinks. "Oh, I'm sorry Credence—I thought what we were doing was simple?"

Invitations and reservations and choices and money _andandand_ —Credence wants it even simpler.

"I—I was just thinking. On Saturday. That I don't really—I just want it to be us. Like always."

Tina puts down a list in understanding, wide-eyed. "Oh. _Really_ simple."

"Yeah. Like—when we did the tasting dinner. I just want it like that. Percival and I can do the ceremony with Madam Picquery—and we can celebrate with just us. Maybe we can rent out a room at a hotel? Or here at home? Percival's good at expanding charms."

Queenie lets out a hoot and Tina groans.

"Stop it," Credence groans with Tina. "Anyway—what do you think? Is that stupid?"

"Oh, sweetie," Queenie says, "it's your wedding! You get to do whatever you want!"

"Oh, thank God," Credence breathes. "Do I have to write vows and say them in front of the President? I think I might die. Oh, God. Do I have to write vows?"

"Well, there's the Unbreakable Vow," Tina says. "Writing vows?"

"Oh. Do wizards not do that?"

Queenie and Tina shake their heads, so Credence explains. "It's become very... trendy, in no-maj weddings. Instead of following the Bible and traditional vows, couples write their own. My Ma always said it was blasphemous."

"You should do it," Tina says immediately.

"So romantic," Queenie sighs.

"What's the Unbreakable Vow?" Credence asks, nervous.

"Oh, just a promise that you'll always be faithful to each other," Queenie waves it off.

"Sometimes upon death," Tina says dryly, giving her sister a look. At Credence's panicked look, she backtracks. "Oh, no, no, Credence, it's just a version of the Unbreakable Vow. Most marriages don't include the upon-death condition any more. It's mostly a pureblood thing. Antiquated. I'm sure Mr Graves wouldn't use that version."

"You can call him Percival, you know," Credence says dryly, deciding to come back to the idea of the Unbreakable Vow. It really gave a whole new meaning of "'til death do you part".

Tina and Queenie wrinkle their noses.

"Maybe I'll have to," Tina says. "I mean, if you're both going to be Mr Graves."

Credence's heart flutters at that.

"Aw, Mr Credence Graves," Queenie coos. "Isn't that cute?"

"Stop," Credence groans. It sounds too good to be true. "So—simple?"

"Of course, sweetie," Queenie says, nodding alongside Tina. "A wedding party of six. Now, what are you thinking about wearing?"

* * *

Credence has spent an entire month agonizing about what to wear. After all, Percival Graves, his husband-to-be, is absolutely the biggest clothes snob Credence has ever met in his entire life.

If Percival has his way, Credence knows they're going to end up in thousand-dragot tuxedos, and Credence is going to die of a stress-induced heart attack before he even gets married. Because of this, Credence has carefully been avoiding the conversation about their wedding attire. He knows Percival is waiting patiently for it, like a cat waiting outside a mouse hole. His opinion on the wedding is mostly along the same lines as Credence: simple, and a minimal amount of people.

Except for their attire.

If Credence had his way, he'd be wearing the green suit, to match the emeralds in Percival's favorite scorpion stick-pins. Or, perhaps, the sapphire suit—only worn once, and exquisitely beautiful, to match his ring. It seems like such a waste to buy another suit, ostensibly for a single occasion.

Percival, on the other hand, has been folding the corners of pages in catalogs normally not delivered to their home, as well as in some of the magazines that Tina and Queenie brought over. One Friday, after Credence's shift ended at the bakery, Credence had entered Percival's office to find Tina and Percival with papers on his desk that didn't particularly look like Official Auror Business.

It looked like Official _Attire_ Business.

He puts it out of his mind instantly.

* * *

After deciding to do the most simple wedding celebration, Credence encounters several awkward moments with people where he's received a gift, and he has to tell them they're not invited.

On a Wednesday in August, Madam Harker gives them a gold statue of a phoenix.

Credence bites his lip before he says something like, _What are we meant to do with this?_ Instead, he politely thanks her.

"Oh, that's very—thank you very much, Madam Harker, but we can't possibly accept this," Credence says, mustering up all the politeness Mary Lou ever beat into him. "It wouldn't feel right—we're having a very small wedding. Very small. No one's really, um, invited—"

"Oh, Deliverance Dane, child, I don't want to go," Madam Harker interrupts his rambling. "I've been to enough weddings in my lifetime, I don't need to go to another one. I didn't even want to go to my own. Take the statue; it's good luck."

Credence eyes the statue warily. It coughs out a plume of smoke, sounding like a horribly ruined tuba.

"I got that for my wedding," Madam Harker says gleefully in remembrance. "I nearly brained my husband with it every anniversary. It was a different statue that got him, though. I'm sure Percy won't forget yours, but you never know."

"Right," Credence says, carefully blank. "Thank you, then."

Professor Dittany, however, gets them a set of books, which has Credence nearly drooling the following Tuesday. They're rare and even Percival doesn't have them, but it still isn't right.

"Professor, I'm sorry, but we're having a really small wedding, and it just doesn't feel right—" Of course, Professor Dittany hears none of it, and so Credence is burdened with glorious books and guilt, but fortunately not another wedding guest.

All sorts of people drop off things at Percival's office while they're lunching together Friday afternoons, actually trying to get invitations to the wedding. Thankfully, Percival handles them, but the script becomes rote in Credence's brain. Jacob says he has something for him, and Credence starts his spiel without thinking.

"I'm sorry, thank you, but we're having a small wedding and no one's really invited except—"

Jacob laughs, cutting Credence off. "Been sayin' that a lot, huh, kid?"

Credence sighs. "You have no idea."

"Invited to what, Credence?" Andrew asks. The freckled young-man had turned out to be a wizard, fascinated to have recognized the cookie demiguises in the Kowalski bakery window, and looking for a job. Credence enjoyed working with him, though Queenie did tease about Andrew having a crush on him. "Did you say a wedding?"

"How have you missed that rock?" Jacob laughs again, waving his hand at Credence's ring. "Credence has been engaged since July."

Queenie starts to frown. "Ah, maybe—"

"You're _engaged?"_ Andrew goggles. "To _who?"_

"A very nice man—" Queenie starts in cheerfully, but a little strained.

"Percival Graves," Credence says unthinkingly, blinking. "It was in the paper?" (And, to Credence's eternal horror, about ten other wizarding publications which he saw at the market that day, every headline becoming worse and worse. Including _Witch Weekly USA,_ of which Credence had asked Percival to rip out and burn the entire article so he could read the rest of the magazine.)

"What? They didn't name you!" Andrew exclaims, starting to get red in the face.

Queenie's mouth twists. "Andrew, honey—"

"Are you crazy?" Andrew bursts out. "He's twice your age!"

Credence, a little struck, doesn't know what to say. "I know?"

"Isn't that _weird?_ Wouldn't you rather be with someone our age?"

He wouldn't rather be with anyone other than Percival. "No?"

"He's a total asshole!" Credence feels his chest freeze.

"Andrew!" Queenie and Jacob bark in unison.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept your opinions about my fiancé to yourself," Credence says coldly, looking down at the pastry he was folding into intricate layers.

"Come on, Credence—"

Credence isn't entirely sure what makes him say it—but anger burns in him the way ice used to freeze his fingers when he'd be alone in the dark winter nights, trying to get rid of pamphlets no one wanted. "I'd rather us not be friends if you're not going to be happy for me." It's out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he instantly feels awful afterwards, especially when he looks at Andrew's crestfallen face.

Andrew storms out, Jacob following, surely for damage control.

"Oh, I'm sorry Credence," Queenie sighs, after a moment. "I tried."

"It's not your fault," Credence mumbles. "I, um—I haven't been that mad in a while, though. I don't get why _he_ was so mad though. He doesn't even know Percival." He hopes this doesn't cost Andrew his job, but he's not entirely sure he can continue to work with him after this. Credence hopes it doesn't cost him his job, either.

"Oh, honey," Queenie sighs. "When I teased you about him having a little crush—it actually wasn't that little."

"Oh."

* * *

Percival comforts him on the sofa in his office when Credence sees him later that afternoon.

"I wish I could just turn into a panther and not think about it," Credence mutters.

"You want to be a panther, too?" Percival asks, stroking his cheek. "Not a cute little housecat?"

Credence sighs. He's still got years of tutoring before he can even think about becoming an animagus. "I just—I always thought that once I had a friend, I'd never tell them I didn't want to be their friend any more. I still can't believe I did that."

"Lots of people call me an asshole, darling," Percival says. "Hell, I _am_ an asshole. In fact, I'm very good at being one."

"I don't care; I don't want people saying that about you," Credence says immediately. "I love you. We—we're getting married. That's not something other people get to decide is a mistake."

* * *

Tina and Queenie push and push, so Credence brings up the idea of writing vows to Percival. He waits until Saturday night, and after dinner they apparate home, pleasantly drunk, Credence gets the chance to pop the question.

"Percy?" Laying in bed together, Credence's face is smushed into Percival's chest, and there's no place he'd rather be.

"Yes, Credence, darling?"

"Do you think—what would you think of—there's this no-maj tradition—well, I suppose it's not really traditional, but it's become somewhat popular—"

"You know I'd do anything for you," Percival says, voice rumbling in his chest.

 _"Whatdoyouthinkaboutwritingourownvows?"_ Credence blurts. Then he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. "Ugh, never mind, it doesn't actually matter—"

"Of course we can," Percival interrupts him. "What do we do?"

"Oh, you're supposed to write them and instead of the traditional vows, you read them out loud and—" Credence blanches. "But I really, _really_ don't want to read them out loud, _especially_ in front of Madam Picquery. Maybe we could—just write them to each other? Do the regular death vow and—"

 _"Death_ vow?" Percival laughs.

"You know what I mean," Credence groans. "The fancy wizard Unbreakable one. The no-maj equivalent of love, honor, and obey."

"Those are some antiquated words," Percival harrumphs. "No wonder no-majs are writing their own."

"They're not so bad," Credence mutters. "But my Ma hated when people wrote their own. Said it besmirched God."

"Well, then that settles it. Tell me how to write my vows, darling, and we can exchange them over the Unity Bond."

"I actually have no idea how," Credence laughs. "I never heard any."

"A love letter, then. Of things we vow to each other."

"Oh. Yeah," Credence sighs, pressing his reddened face into Percival's chest. A _love letter._ From _Percival._ On their _wedding day._ "Okay."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Credence lets Percival have his way about their wedding outfits. Their first fitting in September, Credence sighs in relief. Percival hadn't gone too exorbitant. The materials were fine and expensive, surely, but Percival let Credence have his blacks and whites and greys—and a little boutonnière of peacock feathers and white violets to match sapphire bow-ties. It stuns Credence to see him and Percival in such matching suits, both of them looking so lovely together.

It's an outfit that Credence feels comfortable in; one he can see himself getting married in without the unease of being in such a bold suit. It's perfect.

Credence tells him so, gazing at himself and Percival in their matching suits in the mirror, Percival's arm slung low around his waist. He merely kisses Credence gently on the cheek in reply.

(Percival is, of course, smug for the rest of the week.)

* * *

Credence agonizes over writing his vows. He wishes he had heard even one no-maj written vow, so he had something to base it off of. He starts and stops a million times, burning the awful drafts in the fire in his old room that had mostly turned into a sort of studio space for him. Percival rarely went into it, so it was a good private space for Credence to write.

What did one even write in a wedding vow? Love. Of course, Credence loves Percival. Percival had expressed his distaste for the word _obey,_ so Credence knows to leave it out—though he, personally, had no issues with it. Honor felt easy, though Credence felt it could be interpreted in so many ways. The three words were really all Credence knew about marriage.

The more he thinks about it, though—Sundays. Sundays always felt like marriage to him. How he and Percival would breakfast together, and stay in and read or play chess or draw. How it was peaceful and quiet, and it was everything Credence had ever wanted—a friend, who loved him as he did them. Who never tired of him, regardless of what they did together.

The love letter comes a little easier, after that.

* * *

The morning of the last day in October, their wedding day, Credence wakes to the sunlight filtering in their room. Percival is already awake, gazing at him fondly, running fingers through Credence's hair.

"Morning, darling," Percival murmurs.

"Morning," Credence says, hushed. His heart is already thundering. Percival can hear it, Credence assumes, by the twist of the older man's smile.

"Nervous?" Percival asks.

"Hm," Credence hums, pressing in closer to Percival. "Yes and no."

"I am," Percival says, startling Credence. "What if you decide to run away? You've still got four hours before we're tied together forever."

"Don't be silly," Credence mutters, relaxing. They lay in bed together for a little longer, before beginning their day.

* * *

Madam Picquery meets them in a special courthouse wing of the Woolworth building. She's covered head to toe in sparkling gold, and for a second, Credence aches at how wonderful she and Percival look together when they clasp hands in greeting. He doesn't understand how Percival could ever want him, when someone like Madam Picquery—

But then Percival looks back at Credence, the crow's-feet at his eyes just for him, and all of Credence's uncertainty disappears.

Percival twines their fingers together, pulling Credence to his side. "Ready, darling?"

"Yeah," Credence says. At Seraphina's amused look, he hurriedly says, "Yes."

Percival's mouth curls up at the corner. "Yes, hurry it up Sera, we've been waiting all morning."

"It's not too late to run, Mr Barebone," Seraphina says dryly. "Before you turn into another impatient Mr Graves."

"I suppose I'll have to be the patient Mr Graves, then," Credence says. Both Percival and Seraphina look inordinately pleased at this.

"Follow me," Seraphina says, and sweeps off into the room beside them. As they step through after her, a shimmering gold light falls over them.

"Makes sure we're here of our own volition," Percival explains, squeezing Credence's hand.

"Oh, good," Credence says breezily, trying to cover up the anxiety thrumming through him. "I was worried I was coercing you into this, really. But I suppose you'd even suffer through a wedding if it meant you got to dress up."

Percival huffs a laugh, and Seraphina lets out an indelicate snort.

"Do that again," Percival says, nearly gleeful. "Darling, be funny again."

"You know I only joke once a month, Percival," Credence says solemnly, trying to contain himself at the Madam President doing something so pedestrian as _snorting_ with laughter.

"How soon would you like to be a widower, Mr Barebone?" Seraphina asks mildly, as she leads them to stand under a marble archway.

"Not for many, many years, please," Credence says, strained.

"I would say join hands, but you two are sickeningly sweet," Seraphina says. "Hold them up." She brings out her wand, and waves it over their clasped hands. A bubble of golden light surrounds their hands, and their rings float above them.

_"Do you vow to combine your magics and your households, to grow together and share your experiences with one another, in perfect love and perfect trust?"_

_"Do you vow to take care of each other, in times of sadness and happiness, times of mundanity and excitement, and times of war and peace?"_

_"Do you vow to love and be faithful to each other for as long as you both live?"_

Every question and answer, a glowing, golden rope appears out of Seraphina's wand and wraps itself gently around their hands and wrists. Percival had called it the Unity Bond, a form of handfasting, when he had described the ceremony to Credence earlier in the month. Credence thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful before.

The three golden ropes glow even brighter, before melting into their arms. Percival plucks Credence's ring from the air, and slides it gently onto his finger. When Credence does the same for Percival in return, his hands tremble.

"Now your own vows?" Seraphina asks, a delicate eyebrow raised. According to Percival, she was rather intrigued by this.

They exchange envelopes right there, Credence nearly vibrating with anticipation. By the time he's done reading Percival's vows, with their lovely, looping script, a tear has slipped down his cheek, which Percival instantly wipes away for him.

"Congratulations on your nuptials, Mr and Mr Graves. Blessed be. May your marriage be a magical and happy one," Seraphina says. "I'll need your signatures on the paperwork, and I'll file it myself."

Credence blinks at her. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Oh, you don't kiss the—"

Percival tilts Credence's chin up and kisses him thoroughly, dizzily, and a shower of gold sparks explode from the top of the archway, gently falling over them.

"Let's go home, darling," Percival murmurs. Wizards, indeed, kissed after the ceremony. "We've got a party to attend."

* * *

Credence and Percival apparate home, to find Tina, Newt, Queenie, and Jacob all in their foyer, shouting their congratulations.

The night passes in a blur as soon as Tina busts out shots of gigglewater. Credence vaguely remembers eating, and dancing, and Queenie telling them their fortunes because apparently it was tradition on both Halloween and weddings.

And most of all, Credence remembers Percival smiling as Credence drunkenly sat in his lap and fed him dark chocolate raspberry cake.

Once Tina, Newt, Queenie, and Jacob have all departed, late into the night, Percival speaks, not shutting the front door. "Credence, we need to go outside."

"What?" Credence smiles easily. "Why?"

"No-maj tradition I heard about."

The instant they step outside, Percival sweeps him up in his arms, and carries him across the threshold. If Credence were sober, he'd be horribly embarrassed. Instead, he's only slightly embarrassed, and giggly.

"You—Percy, oh my God, neither one of us is a bride," Credence laughs.

"You can carry me next year, then," Percival says. "We'll switch every other year."

"I love you," Credence says breathlessly.

Percival looks down at him and smiles. "I love you too, darling."

"Take me to bed, Mr Graves," Credence says daringly.

"Of course, Mr Graves."

* * *

> _Darling Credence,_
> 
> _When you first spoke to me of writing vows, I had no idea what to write. While I was perfectly adequate at writing essays in school, that was, of course, many years ago, and paperwork has been the bane of my existence as an Auror—I thought nothing could possibly be enough to encompass all of the things I feel for you and want to promise you. So, I started with a list, because I know you love them._
> 
> _First, here are some of the things I love about you:_
> 
>   * _Your smile, your eyes, your hands,_
>   * _You make me unbelievably happy._
>   * _You put up with my spending habits and sartorial choices._
>   * _You let me lay across you and don't mention it when I purr._
>   * _You make me a better man._
> 

> 
> _Truly, we'll be standing here until the end of time if I continue, and Seraphina will have my balls. Second, here are the things I will promise you:_
> 
>   * _I will always love you._
>   * _I will always take care of you._
>   * _I will deny you nothing._
> 

> 
> _Yours, forever, in life and death,_
> 
> _Percival_

-*-

> _Percival dearest,_
> 
> _I don't think you know how long I've wanted to call you that. Something about writing it makes it easier. But the instant you called me darling one lazy Sunday morning I knew I was yours forever, and I wanted you so desperately to be mine._
> 
> _I'm so glad you agreed to do the written vows. I don't think I could possibly say any of this aloud without bursting into flames, and promptly dying—though you deserve to know it all._
> 
> _You've changed my life in ways I could never have imagined. The first day we met, I thought I had never seen someone so handsome and that I never would again. Just the brush of our fingers was like you put a spell on me. (Good thing you're not a wizard.)_
> 
> _You've helped me become my own person. You gave me the thing I wanted most in the world: a friend; someone I could depend on. And then you kept on giving me more and more and there's nothing more that I want than to give everything of myself to you._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Your darling Credence_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing your own vows started to happen mid 1800s i believe? the moar u know!
> 
> in other news, my bff just got engaged! i'm officially a bridesmaid, i'm so excited :')
> 
> let me know if u enjoy!
> 
> (i also hope to have the bonus lingerie fic up by their anniversary... october 31st... no promises, but it is nearly finished!)


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